


Music and Manuscripts

by CynSyn



Series: Music and Manuscripts Extended Universe [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Author Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Busking, Canonical Character Death, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, Consent is Sexy, Courtroom Drama, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Death Threats, Depression, Desk Sex, Developing Friendships, Digital Art, Domestic Fluff, Drinking to Cope, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Drunk Dialing, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Ex Sex, F/F, F/M, First Christmas, First Kiss, First Time, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Frottage, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Grief/Mourning, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Happily-Ever-Aftercare, Healing, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitalization, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury Recovery, Intercrural Sex, It's safe to come out of hiding now, Language of Flowers, Light Bondage, Living Together, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Love, Marijuana, Mirror Sex, Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Multi, Musician Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Violence, Phone Sex, Physical Abuse, Piano, Picnics, Pining, Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Prayer, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Recreational Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Rimming, Romantic Gestures, Skinny Dipping, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Slow Burn? This is a Slow Roast, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Swimming, The last several chapters are going to be so much fluffier than the beginning, Therapy, Threats of Violence, Trans Character, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Whump, falling in love all over again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 232,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Aziraphale Z. Fell works in the diner and hides himself from view. He’s been writing stories for as long as he can remember, but has never let anyone read them. He wants someday for someone to read what he’s written, but he’s scared it’s not going to be enough.Anthony J. Crowley is a free spirit who lives out of his car. He plays guitar and sells artwork to support himself. He's been hurt many times over, and doesn't feel like he has anyone in his life he can trust enough to be vulnerable around.They meet when Aziraphale finds Anthony behind a dumpster next to the diner, having been left there by an unknown assailant. Aziraphale takes Anthony to the hospital, beginning their story.(There aren't graphic descriptions, but there are mentions of injuries after the fact.)Those of you who have been waiting for a confirmation of happier times, it is here, and there's nowhere to go but up.This was on hold until Dec, but I got slammed by another project that I'm done with now and finding myself with more time. I'm literally writing more on this now and should be publishing the next update for M&M: Soothe The Savage Beast very soon. (2/17/21)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Raphael (Good Omens), Michael/Uriel (Good Omens)
Series: Music and Manuscripts Extended Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755523
Comments: 1573
Kudos: 603
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Initial Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on my current WIP, the Celestial Spektors series, but I got an idea in my mind a couple of days ago for a Human AU that I couldn't shake and started filling up my notes. Over 10k worth of notes, plot points, and scenes later, here is the first chapter. The expectation is to update this at least once per week. It won't be daily updates like I usually end up doing, because I'm also working on other writing and art projects, but there may be an occasional bonus chapter update here and there, as I have time and inspiration.
> 
> This fic relies heavily on literary and musical influences for chapter titles, themes, ideas, and in some chapters, plot. I'll try to put links to the songs that inspire the different sections when possible, but there are going to be some that will be an overall inspiration.  
> I'll try to create a playlist down the line in the event that's something people would be interested in.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Comments and Kudos are appreciated, loved, and encourage me to continue.

Aziraphale glanced at the clock as he reached over to wipe down the empty table. He still had another ten minutes in his shift before he could go home. He wasn’t sure what he was eager to get home to, precisely, but he kept to his routines regardless. There was a peace to it, he thought. It was nice to have something to look forward to, even if it wasn’t particularly flashy or exciting.

It wasn’t that he was without a whimsical side, of course. He had first started working in the diner around ten years ago on a lark. He found the Americana Experience amusing enough that it had held his interest. Sometimes, he imagined himself another J.D. Salinger or Jack Kerouac, sitting in the diner and penning the next great commentary on the human condition. He smiled as he wiped the condiment bottles down and pushed in the chairs.

He considered stopping at a chippy on the way home. It wasn’t the day he usually did that, but he figured he might as well shake things up a bit, in as much as a takeaway on a different night of the week could shake up an otherwise quiet evening surrounded by books and a comfortable chair.

He looked at the clock once more after tying off all of the bin bags and lining them up by the back door. He nodded at Newton, who was working the grill that night, to indicate he was about to clock out and leave for the evening.

Aziraphale gathered up his things, being careful to remember to hook his umbrella onto his arm, and grabbed the bags to place in the dumpster on his way out.

Aziraphale noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye as he lifted the lid to one of the dumpsters to throw the bag in. Cautiously, he stepped around to the other side of the second dumpster to find someone lying crumpled upon the ground. He leaned over to determine the situation.

The stranger’s eyes barely opened as the streetlight behind Aziraphale flickered on, slowly illuminating his pale curls from behind. “Am… am I…dead?” The person’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you an angel?”

_Good,_ Aziraphale thought. _Not dead. Definitely not dead, then. Or unconscious. That’s good_.

“That’s a no to both of your questions, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale responded quietly. “Though it would appear you’ve come awfully close on both counts. My name is Aziraphale.”

“Anthony,” he groaned as he tried to lift himself up on his elbow and failed. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll go, I promise. Just… Please, let me sit here a few more minutes before I try to stand up. You don’t… You don’t have to call the police or anything.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Eh, you should see the other guys,” he said with a pained wave. “And if you do, do me a favor and back over them with a car.”

“Here, let me help you,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the black patent pump with a red sole that was laying beside him. The heel was broken completely off, nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, no,” Anthony’s breath hitched in a tiny gasp, a blend of physical pain and sorrow. “Those were the nicest things I’ve ever owned. Those and my…” His voice trailed off as he lifted up the cracked Persol sunglasses. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a heavy sigh.

Aziraphale noticed the stranger’s pinned back chin-length copper hair had come undone on one side. It was dark and matted down just above the temple. A trickle of blood, mostly dried, but some fresh, ran down the side of his face, obscuring the tattoo there. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if the blood was from underneath his hair, the gash along his eyebrow, or both. He reached over to brush the hair aside to check when Anthony’s eyelids flew open wide, eyes so warm and light brown they were almost golden, with somewhat vertical pupils focusing intently on his own.

“Your eyes,” Aziraphale gasped.

“I’m sorry, I know, they’re weird. It’s a… condition. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, I mean the white of your eye is red. I think you may have a hemorrhage in your eye. Does your eye hurt?”

“ _Everything_ hurts right now, Angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he continued checking Anthony’s wounds.

“Sorry. I know you told me your name, but I don’t remember other than it starts with an A and it was... Complicated. When I thought I was dead, well, I already had an angel on my mind. It was either going to be angel or alphabet, and I hedged my bets on the better outcome.”

“Quite all right,” Aziraphale replied with a hint of a smirk. “Judging by the extent of these injuries, I’m rather impressed you’re holding a comprehensible conversation with me at all.”

The first drops of rain began to fall.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to get you up from here sooner than you’d like,” Aziraphale said, opening his umbrella to hold over the man’s head. “It tends to flood back here rather quickly in the rain. Do you think you can stand, or would you allow me to lift you?”

Anthony let out a small laugh and winced, holding his side.

“I assure you, I’m stronger than I look.” Aziraphale gently palpated along Anthony’s side with his free hand, feeling for broken ribs. “Can you tell where else you may be injured? I don’t want to hurt you more.”

Anthony tried to sit up again and cried out, slipping back down. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the darkening bruise underneath the hem of his shirt, spreading towards his front from the back.

“Oh… um… Okay. I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you hold the umbrella while I go get my car and pull it around?”

Anthony pressed his lips together in a hard line, breathing through his nose with his eyes closed as he nodded.

With some difficulty due to how tender Anthony’s back was, Aziraphale picked him up and carefully laid him in the back seat of his car. He was thankful that traffic wasn’t too bad. When they got there, he turned to the back seat. “You stay here. I’m going to go inside and get some help to get you out, okay? I don’t think a wheelchair is going to work. I don’t think you’re going to be able to sit up for that, so it may take a little bit longer for me to get something to accommodate you.”

“Anything you say, Angel. I’m not going anywhere,” Anthony smiled weakly.

He went inside, coming back out a few minutes later with a pair of orderlies and a stretcher.

They didn’t have to wait in the main waiting area, being pulled into reception right away. The clerk asked Anthony a few questions to get the check-in started, then handed Aziraphale a clipboard and asked him to fill out the paperwork while they waited for the doctor to become available.

Aziraphale sat down in a chair and waited for them to finish checking Anthony in. He smiled at the orderly who wheeled Anthony’s gurney over. Picking up the clipboard, he got started on the paperwork. “Full name?”

“Anthony J Crowley.”

“What’s the J stand for?”

“It’s just a J, really. Not short for anything,” Anthony shrugged slightly, fidgeting with the laminated paper bracelet on his wrist. He glanced over at the clipboard as Aziraphale wrote a single letter on the blank for his middle name.”

“Oh! No, no, you…“ He laughed, biting his lip as he winced and put his hand on his side. “I meant that it’s not short for a longer name. It's not just an initial. There are two more letters you’ve missed, Angel.” He took the pen and wrote an A and a Y beside the J before handing the pen back.

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed slightly when their fingers brushed as he took back the pen. He glanced away just in time to miss a similar color on Anthony's cheeks. “Oh, quite right. How silly of me.”

“Oh, and um, now that I know you aren’t going to, oh, I don’t know, beat me up and leave me for dead, I should probably tell you I prefer to go by Crowley.”

“Why did you tell me to call you Anthony, then?”

“I didn’t. You decided to call me Anthony after you heard it. I merely said that name after you said yours.”

“Doesn’t seem very honest.”

Crowley scowled. “Well, it _is_ my name, so it wasn’t a lie.”

Aziraphale shrugged. He had a point. He also had no right to be that adorable with that expression on his face. “Why did you give that name, then, if you prefer to go by Crowley?”

“I didn’t know if you were going to call the police or do something worse to me than had already been done. Harder to track someone down with only a first name.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly, looking back down at the form in his hands. “What’s your address?”

“My car, if I still have one.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was pulled out of my car. I didn’t exactly get to lock it back up or even shut the door. I don’t even…” He trailed off, eyes trailing along the ceiling in an attempt to recall the events of the evening. “I don’t actually remember how I ended up where you found me. I don’t even know what sort of business you do. All I know is that I was in my car, then I was out of my car, then…” He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath and swallowed before continuing. “And then they were hitting me and kicking me, and then I woke up with you.”

Aziraphale felt another hard pang of sympathy for the man next to him. “I’m so sorry to hear it,” he said, careful to avoid looking in his eye. “I meant—”

“Oh, yeah, right, okay. Uh, yeah. I live in my car. Don’t have an address. I have a post box, though.” He started to take the pen back to write it down, stopping just before the pen hit the paper. “I don’t… I’m… I get the numbers mixed up. I usually look at the slip in my glove box when I need it. I can’t think right now,” he growled softly in frustration.”

“Right, I suppose we can come back to that,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Phone number?”

Crowley panicked slightly as he reached into his pocket. “My phone! I hadn’t thought about—" He let out a gasp of relief that made him cough and wince as pulled out his phone, which was otherwise unharmed. He flipped through the settings to show the number to Aziraphale, who copied it down on the form.

“Emergency contact?”

Crowley looked at the floor. “Haven’t got one.”

“You don’t have anybody you could call in an emergency?”

“I haven’t got anybody I’d trust enough to see me vulnerable like this, no.” He laughed bitterly. “You’re a stranger and I trust you more than anyone else I’ve got a phone number for.”

A nurse came into the waiting area and approached them. “Mr. Crowley? Uh,” he looked down and noticed Crowley’s clothing. “Sorry, uh, Miss…?”

“Whatever is fine,” Crowley replied with a wave. “I don’t mind what you use. I go by any of it, really.” He pointed at the nurse before continuing, “But don’t you let yourself think that works for just anybody. That’s me, specifically. Don’t make that assumption for other people until they tell you that.”

The nurse grinned down at him and started pushing the gurney through the open doors, nodding towards Aziraphale. He smiled and stood up, still holding the clipboard, and followed them before he realized what he was doing.

“Can you tell me what happened?” The nurse asked as he clipped the monitor onto Crowley’s finger.

“I fell.”

The eyes of all of the medical staff in the room immediately locked onto Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up, eyes wide with fear as he realized the implication. “Oh, he's not my friend. We've never met before. We don't know each other.”

“I think you should get on with the examination,” Crowley winced as he tried to sit up on the examination table and was summarily pushed back down gently by the other nurse in the room.

“Eh, yes,” the doctor said, looking between them and back to the nurse. “Richard, please,” he gestured for the nurse to continue, handing him a clipboard and pen. “From the top,” he pointed to the readout on the monitor.

“I found him on the ground behind the dumpster when I took the bin bags out after I finished my shift at work,” Aziraphale explained, still feeling the heat of judging eyes upon him.

“A… Do you know I _still_ can’t remember what you told me your name was? Could you step outside for this bit? I… I’ve only just met you and this is already _incredibly_ embarrassing. I don’t want you to see what’s next.” Crowley could feel the cuts and bruises on his back and between his legs. He knew he had not been raped, and wasn’t quite sure how badly he had been hurt, but he was just as scared of how the injuries he had received on that part of his body would look to everyone else. There was no need for them both to have to see that. He _also_ knew there was no way he could undress himself, and the ground would have to open up and swallow him whole and spit him out into the pits of Hell if that angel tried to _help_ get him out of his clothes and into a hospital gown.

“Oh, right, of course. I understand. You needn’t be embarrassed, but yes, I, I’ll go.”

“Should I have someone find you when…” Crowley’s voice trailed off, not sure if he was asking too much, or why he was even asking this at all from a stranger. All he knew was that Aziraphale had made him feel safe, and it wasn’t a feeling he was ready to let go of.

Aziraphale nodded with a small smile. “I won’t go far.” He walked back out into the private waiting area next to the exam room. Though they had only just met, and it was obviously not under the best of circumstances, there was something about this stranger that he just couldn’t put his finger on. He felt a pull, on a visceral level, towards a person he hadn’t even known existed a few hours prior.

That wasn’t normal, was it? This was chaos, plain and simple. He had been so used to structure and routine for so long. Nothing had ever changed in his life. He got up, he went to work, he went home. He wrote words no one would ever read in the books he hadn’t ever had the courage to attempt to publish. He ate his dinner and read stories that other writers, far braver than he, had put forth into the world.

As to what was normal, Aziraphale couldn’t tell. But he had been… Well, he wouldn’t say happy, necessarily, in his routines, but he had been content enough, hadn’t he? He wasn’t certain if he should allow the strange inklings to permeate through the papers of his thoughts to become permanent, or to wipe them way and get on with his life.

There was a stability in a good routine. It was safe. He felt safe. He knew how easily it could have been him lying behind that dumpster, for whatever reason, and how close he had come in the past.

His older sister Michael and her _roommate_ Uriel understood. It had somehow been easier for them to keep their privacy even out in public. People rarely batted an eye when two female presenting people held hands as they walked, gave one another hugs, or laughed while standing a bit too close. He wished it were more socially acceptable for men to do the same. Things had been especially difficult in the last 20 years, after his mother had remarried and he gained a stepbrother equipped with a homophobic streak and a friend with a penchant for violence. He tolerated Gabe for his mother’s sake, but had as little to do with him as possible.

Still, he had people in his life, he thought, and there was value in that. He knew that in an emergency, he had people who would be there for him, to hold him together. Aziraphale looked down at the empty section on the paper attached to the clipboard in his hands.

He closed his eyes, twitching the pen in his fingers, and worried at his lip for a few minutes. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he looked down at the paper. He pulled out his phone and saved Crowley's number in his phonebook. He then filled in all the blanks on the form with his own name, address, and phone number before turning the form in to reception.


	2. The Vulnerability of Invisible Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books that are never read and black castles with radial tires.

Crowley was scared. He was scared, he was in pain, and he didn’t know what to do. He had been trying to hold it together so hard. He was so used to pretending he was fine so no one would see his soft underbelly. And though he somehow _actually_ trusted him, he hadn’t been able to shut it off around the angel - _fuck_ , what was his _name_? - and it was _exhausting_.

He watched as the angel left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Crowley spoke. “I didn’t really fall,” he explained. “I just… sauntered vaguely bin-ward.” He lifted his head and looked the doctor in the eye. “Right,” Crowley said, pointing to the door. “I only said that to get him riled up enough that he might leave the room. Didn’t think he would otherwise, and I don’t think I can keep it together much longer.” He wobbled slightly before continuing. “He didn’t have _anything_ to do with this. He told you the truth. He found me this way. And I know that sounds suspicious with what I’m about to ask of you. Please don’t call the police. The ones that did this said they’d come back to finish the job if I reported it. I don’t know them, but they ran into me once, I figure they could do it again. I’m a bit hard to miss in a crowd.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he grew paler. “I was beaten, but no matter what it looks like, I wasn’t raped. I’m pretty sure no sex happened. Wasn’t anything like that. It’s… After they stopped punching and kicking me, they beat me with my shoe until I passed out. I woke up somewhere else and he... Whoever he is, he brought me here.” He lowered his head back down on the exam table. “Anyway, uh, I think I’m hurt pretty bad. Gonna pass out now.”

And he did.

Crowley woke up to diffused morning sunlight coming through the window. It might have been morning. He wasn’t sure. It was probably sunlight, at least. That’s how windows worked. At least, he thought so. He felt weird. Weird and bad.

His arms itched. He looked down to see a series of wires and tubes attached to and into his skin.

Oh, right. He was in the hospital.

He reached over to scratch at the itch on his arm.

“No, don’t do that, you’ll knock something loose, let me page a nurse to let them know you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for almost 15 hours.”

Crowley whipped his head around to the source of the voice, regretting it immediately. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, grabbing his head.

“They have you on some sort of analgesic drip right now. One dose is available every four hours, but there’s a button you can press in case you haven’t gotten your dose yet,” Aziraphale said, placing the wired medication controller into Crowley’s hand before pressing the call button on the larger remote wrapped around the bedrail.

“Thank you,” Crowley said through gritted teeth as he mashed the button repeatedly with his thumb.

“Yes?” The voice coming through the remote speaker greeted.

“He’s awake.”

“The doctor will be in shortly,” the voice replied.

Crowley settled back down against the pillows as he felt the cool burn through his arm. When his jaw finally relaxed some, he asked his question. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Not entirely, no. I did go home for a nibble and a change of clothes. The diner is closed on Sundays, so I didn’t have anywhere else to be.”

Crowley looked confused. “The diner?”

“That’s where I found you. It’s where I work. Anyway, I would have brought you something back, but I don’t know your dietary needs.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m not hungry, anyway.” Crowley glanced up at the IV bag he was attached to. “Looks like my needs are currently being met.”

The doctor he had met last night opened the door and walked in.

“How are we feeling, Mr. Crowley?” The doctor shot a glance towards Aziraphale, who nodded.

“Like I’ve been beaten and left for dead with the rubbish,” Crowley replied.

“I really do wish you’d stop saying that,” Aziraphale cringed.

“Why? ‘Strue, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

The doctor smiled, pulling a chair over to the bed to sit down and discuss the extent of Crowley’s injuries, as well as the treatments they had already performed. In addition to the concussion, they were concerned about his kidneys and, combined with the rest of his injuries, were going to be keeping him for observation for at least a week or two.

“You can keep me as long as you need,” Crowley sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, cringing as he accidentally pulled at the stitches along his eyebrow. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

When the doctor appeared confused, Aziraphale leaned over and whispered, “He lives in his car.”

“I can hear you,” Crowley said from behind his hand. “And I happen to _like_ living _out of_ my car just fine,” he lied. While it was true that he enjoyed the freedom of being able to just pick up and go whenever he had the urge to do so, the older he got, the bigger the part of him that wanted to put roots down somewhere grew. “It’s just that I don’t know if I even still _have_ a car, since I didn’t exactly get the chance to lock it or close the door when I was unceremoniously removed from it last night.”

The doctor thought for a moment and made a few notes in his chart. “Depending on how you progress over the next two weeks, we may need to keep you a bit longer. We’ll reassess at that time,” he said.

Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t even realized he had tensed them.

“You were pretty lucky, Mr. Crowley,” the doctor continued. “There was some impact bruising along your ribs that might have been a lot worse were it not for the corset you were wearing.”

Crowley grinned. “I look damn good in it, too. If you’re going to get beaten until you’re hospitalized, do it with style.”

Aziraphale cringed, yet again. He really wished Crowley would stop making jokes like these. But then again, he didn’t really know him well enough to know if this was just how he coped or not. He supposed it probably was, so he said nothing this time.

The doctor stood up to leave. “I’ll check back with you a bit later to see how your output levels are. Try to get some rest.”

“Thank you, Dr. Spear,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward in his chair to shake the doctor’s hand.

Crowley tilted his head on the pillow to look back and forth between Aziraphale and the door as the doctor left the room. “How do _you_ know my doctor’s name and _I_ don’t?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You don’t even know _my_ name.”

Crowley pouted slightly. “Uh… Point taken.”

Aziraphale smirked, turning the page in his book.

“Oh, right, yeah, so… So, you’re just gonna sit over there reading, then?”

Aziraphale’s cheek twitched as he tried not to grin. “Possibly.”

“Fine, then. Fine. Leave me here, tethered to a piss bag and a machine that goes ding, never knowing the name of the angel that readeth the word before me.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders shook as he kept his eyes down and tried not to laugh.

“What _are_ you reading, anyway?” Crowley tried to crane his neck to peek, but couldn't move very far from his pillow.

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose slightly, shaking his head.

“Oh, please? I’m so bored,” Crowley pleaded. “What is it?”

Aziraphale sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “Fine,” he said, pulling off his glasses. “It’s… It’s not anything, really. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever, if history has anything to say about it.”

Crowley listened quietly with rapt attention.

“I… I suppose you might find it silly, but… I write.” Aziraphale could feel the tips of his ears turning red. Why did he feel like he could tell Crowley something like this, one of his deepest secrets, and yet still feel embarrassed?

“Really? Like your actual books? I don’t find that silly at all,” Crowley smiled, his red, bloodshot eyes almost twinkling with interest. “Where are you published?”

“Oh, nowhere, I’m afraid. I’ve never actually tried to publish anything. I… I don’t think… No, I just write. It’s… I guess I mostly write for me.” Because no one else ever knew it. No one else before this stranger he literally met the night prior, Aziraphale thought. Not his friends, not his mother, not even his sister knew. He couldn’t even really count it on one hand how many people on Earth knew he was a writer, because, including himself in the number, it wasn’t really counting if you stopped at one, was it?

“Would you let me read it? I’m curious what sort of stories an angel would have to tell.” Crowley’s expression was hopeful. “And it looks like I’ve got nothing else on for at least a fortnight.”

“Oh, I… I don’t… I couldn’t do that,” Aziraphale faltered. “I’ve never shown it to anyone else. No one else really knows about it, as a matter of fact. I don’t even know why I brought that one with me here to work on.” He put the book back in his coat pocket and pretended not to see the pout on Crowley’s face.

“ _That one_? How many do you have?”

“So,” Aziraphale began, deftly changing the subject, “I’ve spoken with a friend of mine who is willing to drive me out to wherever it is your car might be. I can either check on it, or, if you still have the key, I could possibly move it for you, if you’d like. Of course, if all you want is for me to check on it, I suppose I could drive myself.”

“I… I’d appreciate that, actually. If I still have the key. Is that my stuff?” Crowley pointed to the chair across the room with a large plastic zippered bag full of clothes. He recognized the red snake embroidery on what was left of the black capris he was wearing the night before through the bag. There was a manilla envelope on top of the bag of clothes. Aziraphale handed the envelope to Crowley, who dumped the contents unceremoniously onto the tray table he pulled up to his chest. “Oh, thank _someone_ ,” Crowley exclaimed, picking up a set of keys.

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped when he saw the keychain. “You have a _Bentley_?”

Crowley’s jaw shut with a click as he furrowed his brow and looked Aziraphale up and down incredulously. “People who _have_ Bentleys do not _live in them_ , Angel. What kind of a question is that? ‘Course I don’t have a Bentley. I _have_ a Bentley _keychain_. I _drive_ a CitroënPicasso.”

“Yes, right,” Aziraphale looked a bit sheepish until one of the items on the table caught his eye. He reached over tentatively, picking up a silver marcasite snake hair pin. “Oh, this is lovely. I didn’t get a good chance to look at it last night. Your hair was covering it.”

“There were two of those pins. Matched pair,” Crowley said, frowning. “One of them pulled it out of my hair.” Yanked, more like, and that wasn’t all, but Crowley didn’t really want to go into more detail than that.

Crowley sorted through the items on the table, taking note to feel his earlobes for damage upon finding only one of his silver hoop earrings on the table. Luckily, the posts were hinged and must have popped open when he was hit. He let out a small huff of a laugh at that thought. Lucky. Yeah, that’s him, all right. Lucky as a duck.

“What’s that?” Aziraphale asked, noticing the laugh.

“Oh, just thinking.” He held up the single silver hoop. “One of my earrings got pulled out of my ear.”

Aziraphale gasped, reaching over to touch Crowley’s earlobe, pulling his hand back a second later. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Nah, eh… Ngk… erm, uh… Don’t worry about it,” Crowley shook his head, making nonsensical noises as he attempted to shrug it off nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just felt more alive in that brief touch than he had ever remembered before. Oh, yes. He knew he was smooth.

Crowley picked up his phone, trying to turn it on. His shoulders slumped to find the battery was dead.

“Oh! I brought you something,” Aziraphale said, brightly, pulling a phone charger out of his coat pocket. “I had an extra, and I thought it might come in handy.” He plugged it into the outlet behind Crowley's bed, looping the cord itself along the bedrail so it wouldn't fall down, and plugged it into Crowley's phone.

Crowley couldn’t hide the grateful look on his face this time. “I don’t think I care what your name actually is. You really _are_ an angel, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Aziraphale demurred. “You don’t even know me.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side, chewing the corner of his lip as he looked Aziraphale up and down briefly. “I know you saved my life.” _Why_ did he _say_ that? It was _true_ , yes, but why did he _say_ that?

Aziraphale’s eyes quickly jumped up to return Crowley’s gaze. The two stared at one another silently, breaking eye contact only when a nurse entered to check Crowley’s monitors.

“I, er… I should… I should go and check on the car,” Aziraphale said awkwardly. “What color is it?”

“Black. It’s next to Heaven.”

“Excuse me?”

“Heaven. It’s… It’s a nightclub in Charing Cross Station. That’s where I was.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And the plates?” Aziraphale asked, pulling a small spiral-bound notebook from his pocket to write everything down.

“Are a series of numbers, of which I have written in my glove box along with my post box,” Crowley said, covering his eyes with his hand in embarrassment as the nurse lifted the urine output bag next to his bed to check and change it.

“Ah,” Aziraphale, recognizing the reaction, politely turned away. “Well, what are the odds of two black Citroën Picassos being there?”

“The way this weekend has gone for me, probably as good as _one_ of them being there.”

“Am I checking on it, or am I bringing it here?”

“If you’re offering, and it’s still there and drivable, I’d feel better about it being here than out somewhere else,” Crowley said.

Once Aziraphale was out the door, Crowley’s eyes went wide. He had just given a stranger the keys to his car. Sure, that stranger saved his life. That stranger had sat with him, mostly, while he was unconscious and in a hospital bed. But Crowley didn’t let anybody drive his car. Nobody. Not a single… body. But that stranger, that angelic angel who, for the record, Crowley thought, was rather enjoying being able to take advantage of this whole name game, was on his way to do just that. He was going to drive Crowley’s car, his _home_. His black Citroën Picasso castle that contained everything that he owned, every shred of who he was that he couldn’t carry around on his back or in his pocket. He might as well have handed this stranger his entire identity, the map to all of his secrets and vulnerabilities, and a photograph of his very full piss bag for blackmail purposes.

And name thing, that wasn’t particularly angelic at all, now that he thought about it. Really, he was beginning to think maybe the angel might actually be a bit of a bastard. And he had given that bastard angel the keys to his entire life and allowed him to get behind the wheel.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

Aziraphale found the car right where Crowley had said it would be. By some miraculous result, the door was closed and locked. He noticed a dent in the driver’s side door that looked as if it had been kicked hard. He wondered if maybe one of the attackers had kicked it closed when they dragged Crowley out. He saw something glinting on the ground not far from the car. Aziraphale bent down to pick up the bent silver hoop, noticing what he assumed was blood splattered on the ground near it. He couldn’t understand how something like that could happen without anyone intervening. Although the car was in a secluded area, it was still a public place, for Heaven’s sake. Even if no one could have seen it just walking by, you’d think they would have heard something.

“Is that blood?” Newt asked, looking queasily at the spots on the ground.

“Yes, I rather think it is,” Aziraphale replied, remembering the state he found Crowley in the night before. “It was… Well, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I hope never to see it again.”

Newton gave a half smile. “Do you need anything else right now? I could cover your shift tomorrow for you if you want. I was actually going to ask you about it anyway, if you didn’t mind swapping with me for Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Anathema wanted to go to this expo thing next weekend. I have no idea what it’s for, but she’s very excited about whatever it is.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “Then it would be my pleasure.” He liked Anathema and Newt. They had only been married a few months and were still very much in the honeymoon phase. It was nice, he thought, to see young people in love. He wondered what his own life would have been like if things had been different for him. If he might have been able to settle down with a nice young man when he was their age. He sighed wistfully. “Thank you, Newton, for your help today. I’ll call to speak with you later regarding the shift change.”

Newt waved with a grin and got into his car to drive home.

Aziraphale looked down at the earring in his hand. He put it in his pocket and unlocked the car. Sitting behind the wheel, he put the keys into the ignition and started the car.

The speakers sprung to life at an ear-splitting decibel.

_Beelzebub,  
has the devil put aside for me,  
For me,  
For meeeeeeeee!!!!!!!_

_"Shit!_ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" 

Frantically, Aziraphale slapped at the knobs and dials on the dash, trying to figure out how to turn the music off or at least down. Once he finally managed to turn the infernal stereo off, he sat behind the wheel, gripping it tightly, trying to catch his breath. He didn't particularly _enjoy_ profanity, but sometimes the situation called for it. He leaned his head back against the headrest with his eyes closed.

“What have I gotten myself into?”


	3. Two Halves of a Whole Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thoughts behind the lyrics are louder than you know.

Crowley wanted to do something nice for Aziraphale. Maybe he would like a painting. Crowley at least wanted to paint his portrait. He probably would regardless of the angel’s answer. He _probably_ also needed to stop thinking of this man as an angel while he was entertaining other probables. Probably. “Look, I can’t offer you any money, but I, well, I have certain skills that—”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale said, grinning shyly.

Crowley was insulted. He hadn’t even seen his art yet and was already dismissing it out of hand. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Oh, right. He didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t that insulting.

“It’s… It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale demurred, flushing slightly. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what? I haven’t even told you.”

“Er… p… Pay me back,” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “That isn’t what you meant, is it.”

“It most certainly is,” he replied.

“Yeah, maybe, but you still meant something else, didn’t you?”

“If you have something to say, say it.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes. “You thought I was a prostitute.” It wouldn’t be the first time someone had assumed that, but Crowley had lost count at this point.

Aziraphale gasped. “I did no such thing!”

It was ridiculously fetching, Crowley thought, and that made him all the more irrational. “You did! And for the record, you’d do well to be respectful of people trying to earn a living with whatever skills they happen to have. Life is hard, and a person has to do what they can with what they have.”

Aziraphale looked thoughtfully remorseful. “Well, I apologize. I didn’t mean to infer or otherwise imply anything untoward about your profession. I honestly didn’t even realize that you _were_ a prostitute.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, blinking a few times as he tried to process what just happened. “I… I’m saying I’m _not_ a prostitute. But if I _were_ one, I wouldn’t be embarrassed about it. It’s probably the most honest work there is, if you think about it.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in a nod. He really couldn’t argue with that.

“It’s just not… Not really my scene, not like that.” Crowley scrunched up his nose, trying not to let the past pop back in his head any more than it already had.

“It’s not?” Aziraphale asked, immediately mortified at himself. _You can’t just ask a man in a hospital bed a question like that!_

“Nah, not with just anybody,” Crowley replied. “I, um… When I was younger, I… Well, I suppose it’s not _impossible_ , but it’s not something I take lightly.” _Shut it! Shut it! What the actual fuck am I doing? Stop talking! I’m not even his type! Am I? No, even if he were into guys like me, or even guys **at all** , I’ve been a hot mess since the moment he laid eyes on me. There’s just no way. Probably. I don’t know. Stop thinking about it!_

Crowley had never been so relieved for a nurse to come in to draw blood as he was right then.

“Hello, Mr. Cowwley!”

“Crowley,” both Aziraphale and Crowley corrected at the same time.

“I understand you’ve been in an accident, which was not your fault, and you’re going to need help with a few things. I’m here to give you a nice scrub.” She smiled at Aziraphale, then looked back to Crowley. “Did you need a bit of privacy? I can wait a few minutes.”

Crowley grinned wickedly. “It’s fine. He can watch. He can even assist if he wants.”

Aziraphale snorted, looking him up and down. “Oh, good lord.” He smiled at the nurse. “I’ll just step outside.”

Crowley smirked like an idiot as he watched Aziraphale rush for the door. It was so incredibly boring being stuck in that bed. He had to find _some_ way to amuse himself. Mischief happened to be his specialty. The fact that it tended to come back to bite him in the arse rarely occurred to him in the moment.

Aziraphale closed the door behind himself quickly, leaning back against it.

 _Oh, good lord_ , he thought, looking at the ceiling and grabbing his chest with the hand not holding the door handle. _That man is injured and hospitalized, for Heaven’s sake. You can’t go thinking thoughts like that about a stranger in a hospital bed, you stupid, stupid man!_

“But you might think them about someone you’ve been getting to know if they were in a _regular_ bed,” he mused quietly aloud. His eyes shot open wide, darting back and forth to see if anyone had heard him, as he turned a deep shade of crimson. His face contorted into a grimace as he covered his eyes and shook his head to clear away his improper thoughts. “No.”

“What were you doing, not that it’s any of my business, of course,” Aziraphale started to ask as he shuffled the cards to deal another hand. “But what were you doing at that sort of nightclub?” He dealt the cards out onto the tray table above Crowley’s lap. “Heaven, I mean.”

“That sort?” Crowley sighed. “You’ve been nice to me, so I’m going to let that slide, but not without pointing out that we can’t all be on the _straight and narrow_ path in life. Not that I’d want to be.”

“Straight and narrow?”

“When you look at me, what _exact_ part do you see that fits into that life? Because I’ve been in this body for the last 40-some-odd years, and I can tell you, not one of these bones is straight. I’ve been in the hospital for the last week because someone, someone who doesn’t even know me, by the way, decided to beat me up just because I _exist_. But I suppose someone like _you_ wouldn’t know what that’s like, now, would you?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, looking him up, down, then back up again. “Bold of you to assume that.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. _Oh, Hell_ , he thought. _And I made that joke the other day about the sponge bath thinking… I don’t know **what** I was thinking, actually._

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have assumed. I yell at everyone else about making assumptions, and here I am doing that to you. I’m sorry about that. To answer your question,” Crowley’s voice was tangibly milder now, “Ironically enough, I go to places like that to avoid… Well, getting beaten up and left next to a dumpster. I… um… Eh, I’m not really _looking_ for anything when I go, if that’s what you’re asking. Sometimes I need to get out and do something, and that’s usually the safest way to do it.”

“I admire you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “It’s very brave to… Oh, that sounds terrible, but I don’t know of any other way to put it. It’s very brave to live as you do, truthfully and out in the open, knowing that there are people in the world so full of hate.” Aziraphale mindlessly ran his fingers across the faded scar behind his own ear.

“What I do, Angel, that’s not brave. It’s just another form of hiding. I go to those places because no one will notice anything. It’s reality, Angel. And people will do what they like with it whether I have any control over it or not. I just try to find a safe place to slither out from under my rock now and then.”

“But you _do_ come out now and then, and I think that’s very brave.” Aziraphale looked off to the side. “You don’t just stay hidden because it’s easier.”

“And look where it got me!” He lifted an arm filled with wires and tubes. “No one should _have_ to hide, but that’s the thing of it, isn’t it? The landscape is survival. _You’re_ the brave one. I hang back in the shadows and only pop my head out now and then when I have to. You actually know how to _exist_ in the real world, every day.” He smiled and looked at the ceiling briefly before looking back down at Aziraphale. “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, dropping the cards in his hand into the floor.

Crowley looked alarmed. “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t—”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He moved to the floor to pick up the cards, struggling to reach one that had slipped underneath the bed. “I just recognized the quote, that’s all. I’ve loved A.A. Milne since I was very young. Interestingly enough, it’s a misquote. He never… It wasn’t actually in the book—”

“I don’t read books,” Crowley grinned as he poked his head over the side, trying to see his cards. “I like cartoons, though.”

Aziraphale laughed gently. “But it still means so much to me. Thank you… For… For saying that.” He got back in his chair to continue their game of cards.

When Aziraphale eventually went home to his empty flat that night, he pulled the little threadbare stuffed Winnie the Pooh off of the shelf above his bed, held it tightly to his chest, and went to sleep.

“Oi, Bill!” Crowley grinned as Dr. Spear walked in the room. “I suppose you’ve heard the good news!”

Dr. Spear smiled back at him. “And what news might that be?”

“I,” Crowley said as he pushed himself cautiously up into a sitting position on the bed, “Am going to walk down the hallway today.” He smiled a goofy smile full of teeth and eye crinkles, then lifted one of his legs up to point a foot in Dr. Spear’s direction. “I’ve even got grippy socks! See? Look at my socks.” He reached up to point to his foot and winced, letting out a small gasp as he put his leg back down. “Might have gotten a bit over-excited there,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows and leaning back against the inclined pillows.

“That’s what I’ve come to talk with you about, actually,” Dr. Spear said.

Crowley’s face fell. “Oh, no, I know that look. That’s an I-have-to-tell-you-something-you’re-not-gonna-like look.”

“According to your last lab checks, you’ve developed a bit of a kidney infection. Now that’s not entirely unexpected, but it is cause for some concern. We’re going to have to put you on antibiotics, which we’ll administer through your existing IV, and you’re going to need to rest a bit longer.”

“How long?”

“At least until your fever goes down and the infection begins to clear up so we can better monitor your progress.”

“But I’ve got grippy socks,” Crowley pouted.

Dr. Spear smiled and patted Crowley on the shoulder. “Don’t be too discouraged. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re doing incredibly well overall.” The door didn’t quite close all the way as he left the room.

The weight and reality of everything that had happened suddenly became much more prominent in his mind. It sat upon his chest, constricting him, holding him down until he could barely breathe. His eyes stung with all the tears he had yet to shed. He was mourning the loss of a reality where he didn’t feel like this, where he could step outside and feel the sunlight warm on his face and the grass between his toes, where didn’t have to worry about possible kidney failure, or if his things were still all in his car, or if someone would beat him up again, or even kill him just for being alive and in public. And now, he couldn’t even get out of bed to walk down the fucking hallway. He wanted a cigarette, but he couldn’t have that, either.

It’s funny how things work, sometimes. You’d think that it might have been the prospect of dialysis or death that pushed him over the edge, but it wasn’t. He had _grippy socks_ on. He had the nurse help him put them on _especially_ for today. And now he was all dressed up with no place to go.

Rolling over to face the window, he held himself tightly with one arm, covered his face with the other, and began to quietly cry.

“Crowley?”

He sniffled loudly in a gasp as he heard his name. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, wiping his eyes, but not turning over.

“I just got off work and came straight here,” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t missed it, have I?”

Crowley let out a shaky laugh. “No, Angel. You haven’t missed it. You haven’t missed anything. Nothing at all.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Didn’t happen. Not going to. Not today.”

Crowley couldn’t see it, but Aziraphale’s face fell. “Oh, and you were so excited. What happened?”

“Infection. Gotta get that cleared up first, they said.”

He slipped the _Congrats On Your Victory_ card in his pocket discretely. “Would you like me to—”

“Actually, I’d like it if you’d leave.”

“Oh.” There was more wretched disappointment and confusion in Aziraphale’s voice than any single syllable had any right to have.

“Wait,” Crowley said, still not turning around. “You don’t have to _stay_ gone, if… if you don’t want to. I just… I don’t want you to see me like this. Go get something to eat and come back, if you like. But right now, I need to be alone. Please.”

Aziraphale softened as he began to understand. “Would you _like_ me to come back?”

There was a pause. After a beat, Crowley sniffed and nodded silently.

“Can I bring you anything?”

Crowley shook his head. “Just you.” His voice was almost too quiet to hear.

Aziraphale’s heart jumped in his throat. He reached a hand out towards Crowley, but lost his nerve and pulled back at the last moment. “I… I’ll see you in a bit,” he said before turning around to leave the room.

A nurse brought him some papers to look over. “Sounds like you might be getting to go home soon, Mr. Cowwley,” she said brightly.

“Crowley,” he corrected out of habit. He knew she wasn’t going to correct it.

She ignored it. She always did. “I’m sure by now you know what to do with these,” she said, placing the questionnaire sheets on his bed table. “If you could just fill those out for me, I’ll pop back in later to pick them up. There’s a love.”

Crowley watched her leave the room and began to flip through the papers. After the past three weeks, he was quite used to what they all had to say. By this point, he had filled them out so many times he had them all memorized word-for-word, but for some reason, they kept bringing more to him. He supposed they were trying to give him busy work to keep his mind active and stave off boredom. It probably didn’t help that he drew little pictures and wrote rude, but really funny, he thought, commentary on them sometimes.

“What’s the number on the pain scale that corresponds to _I don’t want to leave because then my angel won’t visit me anymore?_ Let’s just draw a little halo over _that_ pretty little cartoon face,” he said to himself, doodling on the paper, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. “Maybe some wings, too, just for good measure.”

The knock on the door startled him. “Crowley? Are you awake?”

He quickly scribbled through the angelic affectations he had drawn around the little pain scale faces. “Yeah,” he called out to Aziraphale. “Come on in.”

“So…” Aziraphale said, as casual as the bow-ties he wore. “It would appear that you might be leaving the hospital soon.”

Crowley’s heart sank. “Yeah, looks like it.” It was strange, he thought, to dread leaving the hospital in spite of how much he missed just being outside and doing things. What had this angel done to him in the past three weeks? “I suppose you’ll be glad not to have me burdening you anymore,” he said without looking up as he filled in the bubbles on a worksheet so hard he almost ripped the paper. “I’m sure you’ve got far better things to do than muck about with me.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been a burden at all,” he lied. He had all but shattered his entire routine to rearrange his free time around coming to the hospital.

They sat together quietly for a few minutes.

“Still,” Crowley said, finally breaking the silence, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get back to your life.” _I don’t want to go,_ Crowley thought. _I’m going to miss being what you rushed off from work to get to. How am I supposed to come back from that?_

“And you yours, I’m certain.” _Keep it together_ , Aziraphale thought _. He had a life before you, and he’s eager to get out of this hospital bed and get back to it._

Aziraphale had been miserable after Crowley left the hospital. He didn’t know what to do with all of the vast stretches of unfilled time. It was too quiet, too lonely. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. Every single day, he opened up his phone book, scrolled through the contacts, and stared at Crowley’s number.

“It was never going to last,” Aziraphale reminded himself. “He was a stranger in need of help, and… that’s what he got. Nothing more. Just human kindness, that’s all.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but he was reasonably certain it wasn’t working.

He found himself pulling his phone out at work to stare at the number. He wasn’t obsessed, of course. This was fine. It was fine! He was fine. He didn’t miss Crowley. He just had to get used to not seeing him at all after seeing him daily for a few weeks.

Every time he saw a black car, his heart skipped a beat, but he never saw that familiar flash of red hair in the driver’s seat.

He wasn’t fine. He thought he should delete the number so as to stop staring at it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so any more than he could bring himself to call it.

Crowley spent an entire fortnight going in and out of every single cafe, pub, chippy, and other random restaurant he came across. It was the same every time. He’d go in, order a cup of coffee, sit down somewhere, work in his sketch pad, and occasionally glance around. After around an hour, he’d ask one of the staff if they knew a man fitting the angel’s description. When they inevitably said they hadn’t, he’d finish his coffee, collect his drawings, usually pictures of a particular blonde angel, and go back to his car.

When he walked into the restaurant, he noticed it had booths. That wasn’t a common occurrence around London. He liked the privacy of it, and the retro Americana kitsch was amusing. He sat down in a booth, pulled out his sketchbook, and waited for someone to take his order.

“ _Crowley_!”


	4. More Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you say if I took those words away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're entering the first part of the musical portion of the story.
> 
> The song Crowley plays is [More Than Words, by Extreme.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrIiLvg58SY)  
> I recommend listening to it when Aziraphale goes for a walk, whether or not you listen to it now or later as well.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked, sliding into the booth across from Crowley.

“Well,” Crowley drawled, “I was in the neighborhood. Felt like a cup of coffee. Thought I’d take a chance that this would be a good place for it.” He leaned awkwardly in the booth trying desperately to look cool. When that didn’t work, he leaned his elbow against the edge of the table and rested his chin upon his hand.

“Were you planning to order anything?”

“I believe I mentioned a cup of coffee when you first sat down,” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, you did, didn’t you! Terribly sorry. Back in a mo.” He said, jumping up to rush over behind the counter for a cup.

“Miss you already,” Crowley muttered under his breath, watching from behind his dark glasses.

Newt cast a glance at the booth where Crowley sat, then to Aziraphale. His eyebrows lifted as he turned his head towards Aziraphale, who offered a pleading look in return. Newt arched an eyebrow before nodding and tilting his head towards the booth. Aziraphale practically beamed back, picking up the cup of coffee he had just poured and returning to the booth.

“So,” Aziraphale began, hands fidgeting with the placement of the napkin dispenser and condiment bottles on the table. “It’s terribly good to see you. How long has it been?” He asked, as if it hadn’t been two of the longest weeks of his natural life.

“Too long,” Crowley sighed under his breath.

“Pardon?”

 _Shit_. “Er, uh… Too long.” Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly. Because that’s who he was now, apparently. An awkward collection of pine limbs wrapped in denim, cotton, and the glorious inability to modulate brain-to-mouth activities in proximity to an angel.

It was _very_ smooth.

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered with the faint glow of electronic bastard powering up within. “Oh? I suppose next you’re going to say you missed me.” He blinked thrice with a smirk.

 _Christ on a cracker, the Devil’s in the hamper, but this angel is going to be the end of me,_ Crowley thought.

He had just opened his mouth to respond when Newt stopped by the booth.

“You forgot this,” he said, placing a cup of tea in front of Aziraphale with a wink. He held a coffee pot up over Crowley’s cup. “Top up?”

“Yes!” Crowley answered, grinning brightly at the distraction. “Yes, I absolutely would _love_ a top up. Thank you _so_ much. You are so kind, thank you. Thank you, I _really_ needed this. Yes!”

Newt stood there, hovering the coffee pot over the cup, silently judging with his eyebrows after Crowley stopped babbling. “Uh, right. Okay, then,” he said after a beat, pouring more coffee into the cup.

Aziraphale, lips pressed tightly in an amused grin, did his level best not to let his laugh force its way out of his nose.

Crowley merely tilted his head to the side, glowering sarcastically vagueward.

“You’re not going to let me have that, are you?” Crowley asked, taking a sip of coffee.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Go easy on me, Angel, I just got out of the hospital.”

“Oh, that was two weeks ago,” Aziraphale scoffed, seconds later realizing his error and _almost_ cursing as he looked down and scrunched his face up in frustration at his own folly.

“Ha!” Crowley barked gleefully, pointing at him. “You knew how long it had been. You missed me, too, didn’t you? Admit it.”

“Oh, very well,” Aziraphale conceded. “I suppose I…” He stopped speaking abruptly, lifting his eyes to meet Crowley, a wicked grin teasing across his lips. “Too?”

“You’re making me regret checking all those cafes trying to find you, Angel.”

 _Fuck_.

Crowley groaned loudly, lowering his face into his hands. “All right, all right,” he mumbled through his fingers. “You win. Yeah. I _missed_ you.” He lifted his head and threw his hands out to the sides. “Are you happy now?”

Any residual trace of bastard had left Aziraphale’s voice when he replied. “I am. I think I rather missed you, too.”

“You did?”

Aziraphale nodded. “It seems that I’d grown quite accustomed to your company.”

“Pity, that,” Crowley grinned.

“Quite.” The bastard was back.

“I suppose you’ll expect me to come around more now that I know where you work,” Crowley said, eyes focused on tracing the tip of his spoon around the edge of his cup.

“If you _must_ ,” Aziraphale replied with a cocked eyebrow, taking a sip of tea with a satisfied grin hidden behind his teacup.

“Right. Well, this is probably as good a place as any to work on my sketches,” Crowley remarked, pulling a sketchbook out of his bag. He realized it wasn’t the one he meant to grab and placed it on the table to reach into his bag for the other.

“Oh, may I?” Aziraphale reached for the book on the table. “I’d love to see what you’ve—"

Crowley dropped his bag, slamming his hand over the top of the sketchbook on the table. “M’fraid not, Angel. Not that one. Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“It’s private.” As private as a sketchbook full of assorted detailed portraits and poses, purely from memory, of the angel could be. It was embarrassing. Some of them even had _wings_.

“Surely a peek wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Aziraphale asked, playfully.

Crowley had an idea. “You really want to see what’s in here?”

“I do, yes.”

“Fine,” Crowley lifted his eyebrows twice. “Show me your book.”

“What? No! I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Cancel each other out. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“No, absolutely not.” Aziraphale laughed nervously. _Right here, right now, in this booth, in front of someone’s salad? What are you playing at?_ “I am shocked that you would even _imply_ such a thing.”

“You aren’t,” Crowley leaned on the table again, tapping his spoon to his chin with a delighted smirk at having unruffled Aziraphale so easily.

“We're not having this conversation.” Aziraphale was adorably flustered. “Not another word.”

“Right,” Crowley sucked in his bottom lip under his teeth with a grin, tilting his head as it popped back out. _If only I could get him to blush like that about something other than the thought of someone reading his dusty old book_ , Crowley lamented internally.

Aziraphale huffed. “Right!”

Crowley shrugged and slipped the sketchbook containing the angel of his dreams back into his bag, placing the other one in Aziraphale’s hand. “You can look at this one all you want, Angel.”

“Well, that’s all right, then,” he said, flipping through the pages. “Oh, do you take commissions?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. That’s one of my primary means of support. But for you, no charge.”

“Oh, no, I would insist that you be compensated for your efforts, particularly with such fine work and detail,” Aziraphale said, taking a moment to tilt one in particular. “But no, this isn’t for me, though I may call on your services in the future.” He blushed suddenly. “Goodness! This is what you were referring to, that day in the hospital, wasn’t it?”

Crowley grinned cheekily. “Do you mean the day you called me a prostitute?”

Aziraphale looked around quickly to see if anyone heard him. “Crowley, you can’t say that in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Why not?”

“This is a family establishment,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to begin another diatribe when Aziraphale cut him off. “Now, don’t you go and get all high and mighty on me about that. It has nothing to do with being proud or not. Children could be present. Do you really want to be responsible for a sweet, innocent child asking their parents what a…” Aziraphale leaned in close to Crowley to stage whisper in his ear. “What a _prostitute_ is?”

Had Crowley not wanted to keep the angel as close to him as physically possible at that moment, he might have cackled in his ear over how adorably hilarious his reaction had been. As it was, the hairs on the back of his arm stood up as if every bit of him was reaching out to close the distance between the two of them. Outside of that, however, Aziraphale was right, and Crowley knew it. He quirked his lip and shook his head. No, he didn’t want to be the cause of something like that. He _liked_ kids. The world was hard enough. He didn’t want to be responsible for spoiling a childhood by introducing them to a situation they were too young to understand.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s reaction. He looked down at the table, noticing how close their hands were to one another. He could almost feel the comforting warmth of Crowley’s skin against his own. He wondered what would happen if he just reached out and touched his hand. It was one thing to touch an arm to get someone’s attention, or a tap a shoulder. A touch of a hand was a different matter completely.

Touching someone’s hand was purposeful. It meant something, and it was unmistakable. A hand held in times of sorrow was a comfort. In times of victory, a celebration. In times of confusion, it was a guidance. A grasping of hands between strangers was a gesture, and between friends, a greeting. For those who meant something, perhaps a bit more, it was an embrace.

For Aziraphale, it was a point of no return.

Aziraphale pulled his hand back, being careful not to make it too obvious so as not to be offensive. He used the hand to point to the sketch instead. “Do you mind if I show this to Newt? He’s been looking for ideas for a gift for his dear wife, and I think something like this may be just the thing.”  
  


Crowley started coming by the diner several times a week to work on his sketches, usually around Aziraphale’s meal break time.

“Why do you work here?” Crowley asked, working on a portrait of Anathema and Newt in Victorian attire on a velocipede-built-for-two that Newt had commissioned as a six-month anniversary gift for Anathema. “Are you some sort of eccentric genius?”

“Why do you live in your car?” Aziraphale countered.

Crowley scrunched his nose, drawing his upper lip up. “I’m a free spirit.”

Aziraphale stared at him from above the rim of his tea cup.

“And life is not always kind to those who don’t fit in,” Crowley sighed. “It’s hard enough, getting numbers mixed up. But with eyes like mine,” he said, taking off his dark glasses to show the vertical pupils against the pale warm brown irises that were almost yellow at the center. “Sometimes I don’t even get the opportunity to cock it up at all. Even less chance if you imagine them occasionally rimmed in eyeliner and mascara.”

Aziraphale considered for a moment, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I think I would like very much to see that.”

Crowley reached for his glasses to put them back on.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to place his hand on Crowley’s arm to stop him, hovering cautiously just above it.

“M…most people don’t like them. On account of the, the bilateral coloboma. It’s spooky, right? Yellow demon eyes,” Crowley shuddered, remembering the last time he heard that description. It was that mid-March night that he first met Aziraphale.

“Oh, I don’t ever mind that. Big spooky fan, me," Aziraphale said. "Besides, I think I rather became used to them while you were in the hospital. But, even before that, I thought they were really rather lovely. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. What do you call that actual color, amber? That’s a rare color, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, rare color, rare condition. I’ve hit the jackpot twice, and now I can’t even win at a scratcher,” Crowley laughed. He wasn’t prepared to admit in that exact moment that his luck hadn’t been _all_ bad lately, but soon he would be. It was possible he thought that maybe all the Hell he had gone through might have been worth it for bringing this angel into his life. Possibly. Even when he was being a bastard. Probably.

“I’m the lucky one,” Aziraphale said mindlessly with a sigh. “I get to look at them.”

Crowley smiled and rested his chin on his knuckles.

_Definitely_ , he thought. _Definitely worth it_.

Crowley had cut his days at the diner down slightly, stating he had other work to attend to if he planned to keep having lunches with Aziraphale. He had offered to take care of Crowley’s meals himself, but Crowley insisted paying his own way. He was stubborn like that, and while it was generally endearing, it did tend to get in the way of a decent conversation now and then.

It was the first day of June, and it was absolutely gorgeous outside. Aziraphale decided a beautiful day like that should be celebrated with a leisurely stroll during his break from work. He smiled as the sun warmed his face, letting his feet carry him wherever they may. It was something he hadn’t allowed himself to do in ages, possibly decades. He never deviated from his routine, but the last few months had proven him a changed man.

Aziraphale could hear music as he turned a corner. He didn’t think he knew the song, but something about it sounded achingly familiar. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Crowley sitting on the ground, cross-legged in bare feet. He was playing an acoustic guitar painted like Starry Night, next to an open guitar case with coins and notes in it. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head where a few strands of copper hair, gleaming in the sunlight, had come loose to fall across his face. Mesmerized, Aziraphale stepped closer to listen.

_All you have to do is  
Close your eyes  
And just reach out your hands  
And touch me  
Hold me close  
Don't ever let me go  
More than words  
Is all I ever needed you to show  
Then you wouldn't have to say  
That you love me  
'Cause I'd already know_

Though Crowley’s eyes remained closed, there was so much emotion written across his face. Aziraphale wasn’t certain how to read the expressions he saw fluttering in every twitch of muscle as Crowley continued to sing. He was too distracted by the way Crowley’s voice vibrated against his eardrum to set the ossicles in motion, sending shivers down his spine that echoed into the rest of his bones to make a home inside of his very framework.

He had it bad. He was enthralled. He felt alive and excited to just breathe the same air on the same planet as the incredible person he could see and hear before him. He closed his eyes and just _felt_ , as if emotions were a physical sensation that rippled and reverberated back and forth between his core and his tickled his skin. It frightened him and made him tremble in ways that were terrifyingly exciting. He had never understood the appeal of things such as skydiving or base jumping, but if it felt even remotely like this, he could jump from the highest mountain just to fall at those ridiculous bare feet.

He hadn’t realized he had already fallen yet.

They were so different, weren’t they? They were friends, of course. That much was… Well, it wasn’t _clear_ , but they enjoyed one another’s company, for whatever that was worth. But were they friends? Were they more?

What could Crowley even see in him? He was being ridiculous. What would anyone see in just a fussy waiter-slash-busser-slash-occasional cook-slash-writer-of-words-no-one-would-ever-read? He had been a scared, confused boy forced to pretend to be something he was not and had grown into a lonely, hidden man.

Had Aziraphale not been otherwise distracted by his own feelings, he might have recognized everything Crowley laid bare in the anonymity of performance. The expressions and movements as he sang and played betrayed everything he tried to keep hidden. The ridged forehead of longing, the tilted throat of desire, the furrowed brow of sorrow, the dimpled smile of hope, and the shivering breath of lust… And another emotion Crowley wouldn’t allow himself to entertain the notion of, at least, not yet, not out loud. Never out loud. Speaking a word made it real. It wasn’t real until the moment that lips gave it life.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

And so, Crowley continued to sing that which he was too afraid to speak or hope for.

_More than words to show you feel  
That your love for me is real_

Aziraphale stepped forward when the song ended, plucked a flower from the bush next to him, and stood in line behind a few people who dropped money into the case. When it was his turn, he watched as the flower dropped from his fingertips onto the black plush interior. Crowley looked first to the flower, then up at his angel, haloed by sunshine, from where he was sitting on the ground. His eyes, unguarded as they were without his sunglasses, flashed with adoration just before his breath quickened. His eyebrows rose in surprise as if he had been caught at something he shouldn’t have been doing. A flush crept across his face in a shade just between besotted and embarrassed.

“Angel, I…”

“You play so beautifully,” Aziraphale said, one side of his lip quirking up into a grin. Some of the leftover color from Crowley’s face and ears had found its way across Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks. “I had no idea.”

“Y-you liked it, then?” Crowley asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yes, very much,” Aziraphale replied, trying to remember to breathe.

The two gazed at one another, hopes, fears, and secrets clutched between them tightly so as not to allow anything to escape. The spell was broken when someone dropped a five pound note into the case, requesting a specific song.

Aziraphale gave a shy grin as he looked into Crowley’s eyes, then down, then back up again, and left to resume his walk with an ardent sigh.

Crowley watched him walk away, head tilted down and to the side, with a faintly fond twitch of his lips. When the person who had just requested their song cleared their throat, Crowley leaned his head side to side, cracking his neck, and prepared to play the next song.

“Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”


	5. Fairytales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns something new about Aziraphale, but can't forget his own past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for marijuana use.

Crowley was on his way to the diner when he saw Aziraphale walking down the pavement. His tires squealed as he pulled up to the curb and jumped out. “Angel!”

“Crowley! What are you doing here?”

“I was headed to the diner. Got caught up in a few things or I would have been by earlier. Are you just now on your break, then?”

“Actually, I’ve gotten off a bit early,” Aziraphale replied. “I was just headed home.”

“Where’s your car?”

“I sometimes leave it at home and walk when the weather is nice like this.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose I should let you get to it, then,” Aziraphale said, looking away.

“I’d rather you didn’t. I was only going to stay until you got off work. How about I take you to the park to watch the ducks? Like you said, it’s nice enough weather for it.”

“I don’t know what sort of driver you are,” Aziraphale said, teasingly.

“I’ll have you know I’m an _excellent_ driver. And for the record, the last time I was in _your_ car, I ended up in the hospital for just over three weeks.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Get in, Angel,” Crowley laughed as he slid back behind the wheel.

Aziraphale’s phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket, accidentally dropping it into the floorboard. He reached down under the seat to retrieve it.

Crowley pulled one hand off of the steering wheel, reaching out in alarm. “No, don’t! Wait—”

“What’s this?” Aziraphale pulled a small plastic bag out from under the seat.

Crowley’s lips pulled back from his teeth as he hissed inwardly. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with that sort of thing. You’ll probably want me to drop you off somewhere, then?”

“Actually, I was wondering where your papers were,” Aziraphale said casually, replying to the message from Newt asking where the new box of bin liners had been with one hand, while holding the bag of marijuana in the other. “Or did you mean to use some sort of device? I’m personally a fan of a bubbler. Very smooth that way, and much more portable than your traditional water pipe.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Er… I, um… I actually have a… a pipe. Did… Do you…I mean, if you _wanted_ to…?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

“I would never have thought that about you.”

“Most people don’t. Part and parcel of hiding oneself, perhaps. Nobody really sees me. Though, I suppose I rather thought…” Aziraphale hesitated slightly. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s, it’s nothing,” Aziraphale reassured him while staring through the passenger window at the scenery passing by.

Crowley, trying to keep the balance between looking over at Aziraphale while keeping his eyes on the road, found a shady, secluded place to pull over. They sat quietly for a moment before Crowley turned in his seat to face Aziraphale and broke the silence.

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice was kind.

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly to face him. “Hmm?”

“I _see_ you.”

Aziraphale’s breath startled quietly as he felt something brush against his hand. He looked down to see Crowley’s right hand on the armrest next to his, both of their palms facing down, with Crowley’s thumb tracing a reassuring track along Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“Well,” Aziraphale cleared his throat nervously. “I guess this is as good a place as any.” He moved his hand to pull the bag back up from beneath the seat. “Where is your device?”

Crowley grinned, launching himself between the seats to rummage around in the back. The strip of exposed skin between his shirt hem and the waistband of his pants peeking out above his jeans was so close to Aziraphale’s face it was all he could do not to run his teeth along the flesh revealed to him.

Perhaps smoking with Crowley wasn’t going to be his brightest idea.

“Look! Souvenir!” Crowley cried out triumphantly, holding up what appeared to be an old and tattered book as he flopping back into the front seat.

“What’s that?”

Crowley’s eyes danced with mischievous glee. “This,” he said as he ran his finger along the side of the book in his hands, “Is a special case.” He pushed his fingertips and thumbs into the four edges of the book, causing the top to pop open. Inside, there were a few items, including a beautiful hand-blown art-glass pipe.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale said, admiring the colors swirling inside of the glass. “Where did you get it?”

“Found it in a head shop while I was in Amsterdam. Hadn’t really picked up anything from the trip yet. I love souvenirs. I don’t really have room to keep much, so it’s rare that I collect one, but certain things, well, they’re important enough to keep.”

Crowley didn’t mention the _Congrats On Your Victory_ card hidden at the bottom of the case. Besides, it’s not like Aziraphale hadn’t already seen it. He was the one who had given it to him when he eventually _did_ get to conquer that hospital hallway.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Are you sure this is safe for you? I mean…”

“I’m not supposed to drink alcohol, which I usually don’t do in the summer anyway, with nowhere to keep it cool in the boot,” Crowley began, knowing exactly what Aziraphale meant. “but _this_ is fine.”

“But there have been studies—”

“And I’ve seen them. The studies were for people with chronic kidney disease. I don’t have that. I had an acute _trauma_. Not a chronic condition, not that _specific_ chronic condition. Not the same thing. Unless there’s a study I haven’t seen, and believe me, I’ve looked, it was _not_ associated with any sort of decline for people that didn’t have CKD.”

Aziraphale held the pipe in his hands, considering. “You’re certain about this?”

“Asked the doctor and everything, if that helps. And obviously, I wouldn’t go off and tell someone else they could do this without asking their doctor first. I’m not _that_ irresponsible.” Crowley caught the look of concern in Aziraphale’s eyes just then. “It’s not going to hurt me, Angel.”

Aziraphale handed the pipe back to him. “All right, I trust you. Let’s do this.”

“You know, the stories…" Aziraphale said, trying to relight the bowl. "They’re really quite disturbing. And they make _cartoons_ about them!”

“I like cartoons,” Crowley said, playing with a blade of grass between his fingers. He also liked this quiet, secluded spot they had found away from the rest of the world.

“Though I suppose that’s really not so strange, given that the stories were told to children to begin with,” Aziraphale said, trying to hold his breath as he passed the pipe to Crowley.

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded. “You know that word, right?”

“What word?” Crowley took a hit and passed it back.

“The grim one.” Aziraphale took another hit.

“Grim?”

“Yeah. Grim. It means… grim.” He held the pipe and lighter back up, but Crowley waved his hand.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale continued, tamping down the pipe with the butt of the lighter. “Comes from the brothers. Named Grimm, they were. Told lots of terrible stories. And they make _cartoons_ about them!”

“I like cartoons,” Crowley smiled wistfully towards Aziraphale.

“There is a special circle of Hell for those who cheat at cards,” Crowley spoke in a terrible falsetto, attempting to imitate Aziraphale. “Or whatever it is you sound like. You probably would do it better than me. Do… Do the voice.”

“What voice?”

“The… The _you_ voice. You know the one. Where you talk.”

For a brief moment, Aziraphale had forgotten how speech worked. Once he managed to rally, he replied. “Do you mean like this?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, that’s… I don’t think that’s right. That’s not how you sound.”

Aziraphale’s face scrunched up in confusion, leaning into Crowley. “It isn't?”

“Hmm, no. ‘Mfraid not, Angel. You just… You just don’t know how you sound. But you’ll get there.” Crowley was cozy against Aziraphale. “Just gotta keep… Keep practicing.”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale replied, draping his arm over Crowley’s shoulder as they sat beneath the tree next to the water. They watched as the ducks fought over the frozen peas Aziraphale had made the habit to start bringing on these outings.

It had become a regular occurrence, at least once a week, that the two of them would drive off together to get high and talk. It was a way to let go without fully giving into the dreams that had not been named.

Aziraphale was much less reserved when he was high, for example. He was more likely to reach out to touch Crowley on the arm without pulling back, or lounge against his shoulder. Crowley took advantage of this as often as he could. He would lean into Aziraphale’s touches, soaking them up and drowning in the feeling. They were always friendly little touches and brushes against one another, perfectly chaste, but his reaction, the way he melted against the angel’s warmth, always came with an explanation _. “Sorry about last night, Angel,”_ he would say. _“You know how touchy-feely I get when ‘m stoned. Can’t be helped.”_

Aziraphale would always reply, _“That’s quite all right. I get the same way. I understand.”_

And so, the dance continued.

Sober, Crowley remembered who he was. When he was sober, he knew he couldn’t have the things so many other people took for granted. If he hadn’t been certain about that before, his recent stint in the hospital was more than enough reminder. Just because he tried to live most of his truth, that didn’t mean there wasn’t still an order to things that was outside of his control.

Over the years, life in general had hardened his outer shell. He had to be this way, he thought, for his own sake. He couldn’t let his guard down for anyone or anything. The few times he had done so came with consequences. Softness was a vulnerability, and being vulnerable wasn’t safe.

That was before Aziraphale, but habits are hard to break.

Crowley had spent his life coming up with reasons, validations, for everything. People were less likely to question him if he could give a reason for why he did or didn’t do something. Reasons gave actions a sort of permission.

 _It’s fine_ , he thought, willfully ignoring the flames building around him. _This is fine_.

He had his reasons, his excuse. When they were high, they could touch one another freely, at least within the same privacy they would use to _be_ high together, without the messiness of reality crashing down. And it wasn’t like he _expected_ anything to progress further than a hug or a hand on an arm. He wouldn’t do that, not when they were stoned or drunk or anything like that. He wouldn’t do that to anyone, but especially not his angel.

_Stop calling him that. You’ll say it out loud. Don’t you dare say it out loud. He’s not yours._

But this, this was okay, wasn’t it? Aziraphale was touching _him_. There wasn’t anything wrong with what they were doing. Perfectly fine, really. You could do it in public with anyone. Well, other people could, anyway. Never went particularly well for Crowley in the past, actually. He usually only received any sort of touch when someone wanted to fuck him or fight him, but it was _different_ with Aziraphale. The angel never reached for him in anger, never _took_ from him when he didn’t want…

Crowley shook his head to clear away thoughts of the past, as if his mind were an Etch-A-Sketch and his memories, like the tracks between the aluminum powder, could be hidden away with the fresh dusting after a simple shake.

As touch-starved as he was, it was Aziraphale’s fingertips he longed to feel against his own skin more than anything. It was not only what he wanted, but what he _needed_. He craved the kindness of the angel’s touch to tame the wretched, lonely beast coiled tight yet poised to strike inside of his rib cage prison of a chest. If he had to get stoned to allow himself an excuse for that touch to happen, so be it.

He had no idea that Aziraphale, who had become quite adept after a lifetime of hiding in plain sight out in the open, had been doing the same thing.

Aziraphale nodded to Newt as he clocked out and headed for the back door, grabbing the bin bags as per his usual routine. He stepped outside, hoisted the bags up into the dumpster, and closed the lid when he heard a splash. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned, looking towards the pond just behind the diner. The sun was low, orange and pink in the sky as it reflected on the water. His breath stilled as he watched a head breach the surface, flinging copper strands through the air to send a glittering rain of sparkling golden droplets flying out over the water.

Crowley was breathtaking. Aziraphale found him breathtaking in general, but wet and highlighted by the setting sun? The sight was a goddamned miracle.

Crowley ran his hands up over his face, wiping the water out of his eyes and pushing his hair back. He smiled and waved when he saw Aziraphale standing behind the diner. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Angel! Come swim with me!”

Aziraphale’s feet were moving before his mind caught up with him. What was he doing? He didn’t have a bathing suit, and he certainly had no interest in getting into the water in his trousers and button down. As he moved closer to the water, he noticed a pile of clothing on the grass. He looked back and forth between the pile and the man in the water smiling dopily back at him.

“What is that, some kind of porridge?” He asked, indicating a lumpy clump floating in the water.

“No.” Crowley laughed. “It’s a… You know, an aquatic weed. I forget the name. Something about whatever eats it. Just push it to the side and get in.”

“I haven’t got a suit.”

“Who needs a suit? Do what I did. It’s just us here, Angel.” He traced his fingertips back and forth, sending ripples along the surface of the water. “No one has to know. You can leave your knickers on if you like.”

“I don’t wear _knickers_.”

“ _I_ do,” Crowley grinned up at him. “Fine, leave your _undies_ on if it suits you. Just get in the water with me!” He laughed and swam further out. “Do you need me to turn around?”

Aziraphale shot him a glance that he hoped said _yes, please, would you mind turning around?_ He had hoped the look didn’t also convey _, I find you terribly attractive, particularly while you’re so fetchingly wet, slick, and shiny, and the idea of undressing while you watch is mortifying._

Crowley nodded and turned around to wait. Aziraphale kicked off his shoes and carefully removed his outer layers to fold neatly into a stack on the grass next to the expressionist’s ideal of a pile that was Crowley’s clothing. Aziraphale began wading into the water in nothing but his undershorts. The water, heated all day by the mid-July sun, was warm and soothing against his skin. It was incredibly relaxing to his muscles as he sank in further.

When Crowley heard the sound of water displacing, he turned around to splash towards Aziraphale.

“Oh, foul fiend!” Aziraphale cried out.

“If you plan to do anything to thwart me,” Crowley grinned, “You’re gonna have to catch me first.” He took a deep breath and submerged underwater to swim away before popping back up further out. “C’mon, Angel, catch me if you can!”

Aziraphale, though unable to cut back and forth through the water the way a lithe body like Crowley’s could, was still powerful enough to give him speed as he swam towards the siren song that was Crowley. The two splashed, chased, and played as the sunlight fell into twilight, laughing and carrying on as if the world around them had stopped.

Aziraphale didn’t think he could remember ever feeling so free and untethered, at least, not since he was much younger, before the ways of the world put him in his place. It was a magical feeling, this moment of secret joy and delight. He didn’t want it to end.

As it grew darker, the two began to look up at the night sky.

“I’ve always loved the stars,” Crowley said with a dreamy sigh. “Had a book about them when I was a kid, Atlas of the Night Sky. Been hooked ever since.”

“Oh? What is it about them that draws you in, do you think?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, I like all the scientificy bits just fine, and all. It’s really fascinating.” Crowley smiled gently as the moonlight shown down on his upturned face. “But what I love best is the rich tapestry of history and legend attached to everything. Ever since there have been humans, they’ve been creating stories to explain everything around them. Oh, the mythos is glorious, Angel. The origins of the constellations, especially, is incredible.”

“That sounds rather lovely,” Aziraphale said, his eyes focused on Crowley instead of the stars. It was nice, he thought, being able to see him so open and happy. Aziraphale wanted to know more. He wanted to know the dreams and wishes inside of Crowley so very much. He looked back up at the sky. “What do you like best about the ones you can see now?”

“Ducks!” Crowley exclaimed, startling Aziraphale.

“What about ducks?” Aziraphale asked, confused, turning his head from the sky to look at Crowley.

“They’re what eat the weeds.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Just describe the stars, please.”

“Right. So,” Crowley pointed to the sky. “Do you see that one right there?”

“I really can’t tell what you’re pointing to, my dear,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley swam closer and leaned his head back next to Aziraphale’s upturned face, moving his arm to point up at the sky from the angel’s point of view. He had hoped this would help Aziraphale see which constellation he was indicating. “Okay, follow my finger. Are you following?” 

“Yes.”

“Great. Good. Okay. Do you see the one right there? That’s Andromeda. According to Greek mythology, she was Perseus’s wife. Got chained up. There were a couple of movies about it, but they were a bit dodgy on the details. Still good, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you… You know about the Kraken, right?”

“Ooh, great big bugger. But what does that have to do with Greek myth? That’s a Scandinavian legend, isn’t it?”

“Yes, exactly!” Crowley replied, excitedly. “That’s my point! They made this movie, see, and then there was a remake of it, and… Oh, I’ll just have to show you sometime. The movies are really great fun if you can let yourself just get past all of that.”

“I think I’d like that,” Aziraphale said quietly, glancing at Crowley.

“Right, okay, anyway,” Crowley said, moving in a little bit closer to continue pointing out specific bits of the sky. “See those three stars? They have a…A bunch of exoplanets, um, I forget the names of all of them, but it’s not like I’m going to be able to drive there or anything.” Crowley’s voice was low. “Although… Sometimes I think that if I could, maybe I would.”

“Why?” Aziraphale tilted his head closer to hear.

“Don’t you ever want to just _go_ somewhere that no one could find you and just, you know, live? Maybe exist without having to look over your shoulder constantly to see who’s looking or lurking?” Crowley’s voice was all but a whisper.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley shivered at the warmth of the angel’s breath against the side of his face, his own breath suddenly rumbling a low and deep sigh from his throat. Without even realizing he had done it, Crowley closed his eyes and leaned the back of his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Beneath the water, arms cautiously wrapped around Crowley’s chest as if they were created specifically to do so. Crowley, in turn, held onto them.

The pair stood, embracing in the darkness, swaying together as gentle waves lapped against their skin. No longer thinking about the stars in the sky, they simply held one another. Gone were the sounds that had surrounded them before, left instead only to focus on the sounds their heartbeats made as they synced into a shared rhythm. No words were spoken. It was as if time stood still.

Aziraphale shifted slightly, resting his hand on Crowley’s bare hip. Crowley’s eyes opened, conflicting emotions shifting across his face.

“I, um,” Crowley’s voice was thick and heavy in his chest. “I have to go. I… I’ll see you around,” he said as began to swim to the shore in the moonlight.

“Yes, right,” Aziraphale said quietly, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice. “See you…”

Crowley turned around, yearning and restraint competing for dominance within his eyes. “I _will_ , Aziraphale. Just not… Not yet. I have to go.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley wrung his hair out while wading slowly towards the shore. The moonlight, reflecting off of the surface of the water, glistened against the wet rivulets pouring down the pale curves of his backside as he moved. There was an ethereal beauty to him, Aziraphale thought. Such magic wasn’t meant to be possessed by mundane mortals such as he. Aziraphale felt breathless and foreign, as if he were an intruder, stealing some moment meant only to exist in the mists of Avalon itself.

“Resplendent Titania, my sweet Fairy Queen,” Aziraphale whispered over the water while it still held them both. “Oh, but were I to be a worthy enough angel to awaken you from your flowery bed.”

Crowley stepped onto the grass, pulled a shirt that came down to his thighs over his head, grabbed the rest of his clothes, and slipped away like the fading memory of a dream into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though no music is specified in this chapter, I wanted to go ahead and share that some parts of Aziraphale's character are based on [The Genius Next Door, by Regina Spektor. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIvWbs7ojg8)  
> In spite of having a few more chapters mostly written already, I'm probably not going to post another update until this weekend. I'm trying to get myself into a more reasonable schedule. I've been very excited to get this story told, so please rest assured, it, as well as my other WIP, are going to be finished. I just need to try to slow down a little so I can keep up with everything else going on, too.  
> Thanks for reading! I look forward to your comments, and to bringing you the next chapter on Saturday or Sunday.
> 
> Miel Petit and I did a collab on the art for this chapter over the summer. She did the lineart and I colored it. You can view [the post on Tumblr here](https://mielpetite.tumblr.com/post/617480124219211776/show-chapter-archive).


	6. Not-So-Celestial Harmonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harmonies sound sweeter when everyone knows the song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for the chapter:  
> [ James Blunt You’re Beautiful Acoustic guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUDyDIEbc8Q) There are other versions, but I wanted to give the effect of a single acoustic guitar.  
> [ Actual busker performance of Creep at Covent Garden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xJshawTOpc) You really get the feel of the performance in this video, because it's an actual busker there with people and the sounds of the area.  
> Any time Crowley is busking, unless it's otherwise mentioned, he's doing so at [Covent Garden](https://www.coventgarden.london/street-performers)

After two weeks without seeing Crowley at the diner, Aziraphale grew worried. At first, he had concerns that something might have happened to Crowley, given how they met in the first place. He relaxed temporarily when he remembered that he was Crowley’s emergency contact. He’d be notified if Crowley were hospitalized. Of course, if something _had_ happened to him and he _hadn’t_ been hospitalized, how would Aziraphale ever know?

Best not to speculate.

When he wasn’t thinking about end-of-the-world-scenarios, Aziraphale was concerned he had done something wrong. If Crowley needed some time away, he’d respect that. He wouldn’t call him or text, just in case. He didn’t have to _like_ it, but he would be mindful of that possibility. But even if Crowley didn’t want to see or hear from him anymore, Aziraphale needed to at least know he was okay.

Aziraphale took matters into his own hands. He started taking walks during his lunch breaks and his days off, trying to catch Crowley busking on the pavement somewhere. A week later, on a sunny afternoon, he found what he was looking for at Covent Garden.

There he was, sitting tightly on the ground, drawn in on himself. It didn’t feel like Crowley. The Crowley he knew was full of life and excitement. The version of Crowley he saw on the pavement lacked the casual sprawl of relaxation. Instead he was slumped, as if burdened by something heavy upon him. Aziraphale had only ever seen Crowley looking anywhere remotely like that once. It was the day he was unable to walk around due to a kidney infection. Somehow, he seemed smaller still now, both clinging to and hiding behind his guitar.

Aziraphale hung back, trying to stay out sight, as he approached to listen to the last remnants of the current song.

_You're beautiful  
You're beautiful  
You're beautiful, it's true  
There must be an angel with a smile on his face  
When he thought up that I should be with you_

Crowley’s brow knit as he closed his eyes.

_But it's time to face the truth  
I will never be with you_

Aziraphale ran the lyrics back in his head over and over. What did they mean? What was… _Was_ Crowley trying to say something? It certainly looked like it might have been… Or was that wishful thinking on Aziraphale’s part? He wasn’t sure, but he wanted… Well, he didn’t know exactly _what_ he wanted, but he knew whatever it was involved the possibility of seeing Crowley smile at him again.

Crowley took a drink from his water bottle, smiling weakly and nodding as people tossed change into his case. He sniffled a bit, refastening the holder for his street performer’s license display that had started to come undone on the inside of the top of his guitar case. Stretching out his hands, he rolled his shoulders, and began the next song.

_When you were here before  
Couldn't look you in the eye  
You're just like an angel  
Your skin makes me cry_

_You float like a feather  
In a beautiful world  
You're so very special  
I wish I was special_

Crowley took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes before continuing to play.

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo  
What the Hell am I doing here?  
I don't belong here  
No, no, no, no, no_

Aziraphale covered his mouth with his hand, his eyebrows pinched together in sympathetic discomfort. _Oh, Crowley,_ Aziraphale thought _. Is that really how you feel? That’s not true at all._

When the song was over and he finished packing up, Crowley frowned, clenching his teeth while pressing his palms into his eyes as he sat on the pavement with his elbows on his knees.

“Mind if I join you?” Aziraphale said quietly, having walked over while Crowley’s eyes were covered.

Crowley moved his hands to peek at Aziraphale’s shoes. He folded his arms cross his knees, burying his face in them. “If you like,” came the quietly muffled response.

Aziraphale sat down on the pavement next to Crowley, nudging him gently. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Crowley exhaled loudly, knocking some of the hair that wasn’t tied back in a bun down over his face, hiding it more. “No, I suppose not.”

“I thought you said—” Aziraphale began.

“Angel, I—” Crowley spoke at the same time.

Both went still, waiting for the other to speak. Aziraphale couldn’t handle the silent standoff any longer and spoke first. “I’ve missed you.”

Crowley peeked at him from underneath the spill of copper hair over his elbow.

Aziraphale leaned a little closer. “Would you like to go feed the ducks?”

Crowley thought for a moment, then nodded, leaning a little bit closer to Aziraphale.

The two sat for a moment, just happy to be in proximity of one another again. “Come on,” Aziraphale said, moving to stand up. “Let’s get your things put in the car.” He extended his hand out to Crowley to help him stand.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale lit the pipe with a disposable lighter. “Didn’t you have a fancy lighter?”

“Uh…”

“You did. Pewter, I think. Had a sword on it. It was fancy as anything. What happened to it?”

“Uh…” Aziraphale looked in every direction but Crowley.

“Lost it already, have you?” Crowley grinned.

“Gave it away,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“You what?” Crowley’s eyebrows flew up as his jaw dropped down.

“I gave it away,” Aziraphale whined. “There were power cuts in the building, and it was going to be dark in there. The woman down the hall didn’t have any candles or matches. And she had children getting upset already, and I said, ‘Here you go, have some candles, use my lighter. Don’t thank me. And don’t wait for the sun to go down on you while you’re out here.”

If Crowley hadn’t already been in love with the ridiculous, kind-hearted, most beautifully gorgeous angel next to him, he most definitely would have been now. He had _missed_ Aziraphale. He missed the richness of his voice as he spoke, especially the way the angel spoke his name. He missed the little cleft and dip in his nose. The idea that those strong arms had wrapped all the way around him once, but wouldn't ever again was torture. He had been worrying over whether or not he had done the right or wrong thing by running off. Maybe Aziraphale didn’t even _mean_ to hold him like he had that night in the pond. Maybe he did. But Aziraphale had come _looking_ for him. That had to mean _something_ , didn’t it? With Crowley’s luck, it probably meant Aziraphale had a tendency to make poor life choices, one of which had been to spend time with Crowley. Of course, were that the case, Crowley could find ways to work around it.

“Funny if we both got it wrong,” he laughed quietly to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Angel,” Crowley smiled, leaning his head ever so slightly against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I got a piece of mail for you, from the hospital,” Aziraphale said, pouring coffee into Crowley’s cup. Crowley had returned to his usual schedule of diner visits. “I forgot and left it at home, though. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll try to remember to bring it with me when I’m back on Thursday.”

“Well,” Crowley drawled, staring into his cup. “It _could_ be _important_. Maybe I should… Drop by and pick it up after you get off work.” He took a sip of his coffee without looking up.

“You know, you may be right. I hadn’t quite considered that. It could very well be important enough not to wait,” Aziraphale said, thoughtfully. “I’d hate for you to miss out on some vital information.”

“No, I definitely wouldn’t want you to worry over that.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Aziraphale beamed.

Newt, having overheard the entire exchange, looked between the two of them. He rolled his eyes with a grin, shaking his head as he went into the back to start the evening shut down prep. “Forty-something year old schoolchildren,” he mumbled under his breath. When he came back out, he nudged a folded-up slip of paper into Aziraphale’s hand at the counter, nodding towards Crowley, who was sitting in the booth with his head down, sketching.

Aziraphale unfolded the note.

Aziraphale scoffed, balling up the note and throwing it back at Newt, who grinned and dodged. The note landed in a fryer vat, catching on fire. Newt was quick to fish it out with a basket, drop it on the grill plate, and smother it with a pot lid.

Crowley’s head lifted up quickly. “What’s going on over there?”

“Er, n-nothing! Only a little mishap with the fryer! Ha-ha-ha!” He waved his hand with a flourish before turning back around to Newt, face beet red. “Not one word,” Aziraphale whispered through clenched teeth.

Aziraphale unlocked the door to his flat, opening it and gesturing to Crowley. “After you.”

Aziraphale flipped the light switch after closing the door behind him. He went over to his desk to retrieve Crowley’s mail.

“You have a piano!” Crowley exclaimed, running his hand along the slightly worn, but obviously loved, edges of the rosewood Steinway upright against the wall.

“I do, yes. It was my grandmother’s.”

“Do you play?”

“I do. As a matter of fact, I used to give lessons.”

“Could you teach me? How much would you charge?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t charge you for that.” Aziraphale was entirely too happy to have a potential reason for Crowley to come over regularly.

“I want to,” Crowley said, tracing his fingers along the keys. “Your time is valuable. We could work out some sort of trade, if you like.”

“If I’m being honest, I think I’d enjoy the time regardless, but if you insist, perhaps you could create some sort of art for me.”

“Anything you want.” His expression was open and hopeful. “What would you like, Angel?”

“Surprise me.”

“I think I can handle that,” Crowley thought. The wheels were already turning in his mind. He sat down on the piano bench, caressing the keys delicately with great interest. “This is just beautiful. It’s a beautiful instrument,” he said, pressing a few random keys to hear the tone. “It’s incredible how well-kept it is.”

“I thought you didn’t play,” Aziraphale said, slightly confused.

“Oh, I… I see them now and then in passing. I have to replace guitar strings every so often, or get sheet music to learn new songs sometimes. I go ‘round the shops.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said, handing Crowley the letter from the hospital.

“I wonder how this got sent here?” Crowley asked, opening the envelope. His lip drew up into a grimace. “They want me to schedule a follow up to check on _how things are progressing with my recovery_ ,” he said, showing Aziraphale the letter.

“About that,” Aziraphale began nervously.

Crowley looked up from stuffing the letter back into the envelope. “What?”

“I think that, um…” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “Well, it's not _impossible_ , uh, considering the, the lack of alternatives that…”

Crowley watched patiently as Aziraphale dithered.

“Well, um, it's _possible_ that I may have, have put myself down as your emergency contact when you didn’t have one, and written my address down when you couldn’t remember your post box number. I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

Crowley felt warm inside. “Oh, Angel. That was… That was a pretty creepy thing to do to a stranger.”

“What?” Aziraphale startled in a voice so high-pitched that dogs could hear it all across London.

“It’s a joke,” Crowley laughed, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. It’s fine, Angel. It’s nice, actually, knowing that part of my life, er, the hospital part, uh, doesn’t…” Crowley faltered. “Doesn’t have any blanks.” He puffed out his cheeks as he blew a breath through his lips and cocked his head to the side. “Thank you.”

“It’s not too much?”

“Angel, you came to the hospital every single day. It passed being too much when you carried my piss bag down the hall so I could walk around when the nurses were busy.”

  
  


“This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” Crowley groaned, flopping down to sprawl dramatically on the blanket spread out over the grass. “No wonder nobody’s here.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale shushed him. “Really, my dear, you’re causing a scene.”

“So are they,” Crowley pointed towards the stage, throwing his other hand palm-up across his eyes.

“Yes, but people are paying them to do so,” Aziraphale replied quietly, not indulging the pile of pitiful pouting beside him while rummaging through the picnic hamper.

“Yet when _I_ choose to make a scene purely for the love of the art, it’s _problematic_ ,” Crowley replied, stretching out and rolling over on the blanket to get comfortable. “Did you only bring red grapes? You know I prefer the green ones.”

Aziraphale scoffed, throwing a grape at him.

“You didn’t even come close to hitting me with that.”

“If I were trying to hit you, you’d know.”

“Oh, really? I seriously doubt that.”

Aziraphale side-eyed him, but said nothing as he popped a grape into his own mouth.

Crowley had an idea. “Right. I have an idea.”

“Is that so?”

“If you can throw a grape into my open mouth, you win. But if I have to move at all to catch it after you throw it, I win.”

“What if you move but don’t catch it? Hardly seems fair,” Aziraphale pouted.

“Then it’s a draw and we go again until I catch one.”

“With your big mouth, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Prove it, then, if you’re so clever.” Crowley opened his mouth.

Closing one eye and squinting the other, Aziraphale carefully lined up his shot. “Ready, steady, and…” He flicked the grape, missing Crowley’s mouth entirely as it bounced off of his nose and rolled on the blanket. “Wait, let me try again. I want another go.”

“And have you bounce another off of my nose? Unlikely. Besides, it was a draw. We both lose.”

And that’s when it happened.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew up slightly over hopeful eyes with a glimmer of an unspoken plea. In this non-aggression of wills, Crowley was far outmatched. With a look like that, he would have done anything for this angel. He would have stopped time and faced down _Satan himself_.

He decided he would make certain he caught the next grape.

“Yes, all right,” he griped. “I’ll do that one, my treat.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale brightened.

“Yes, but I’m going to make it a bit easier on myself,” He said, rearranging himself so that he was lying with his feet towards the stage, face up with his head propped on Aziraphale’s knee. “You can just drop it in and I can avoid physical harm.” He opened his mouth again, waiting.

Aziraphale smirked, but held another grape over Crowley’s face, dropping it in from just above his lips.

“Still prefer the green ones,” Crowley said as he chewed.

The two sat together, unmoved, to watch the rest of the play. Aziraphale continued to nibble, occasionally holding out a segment of orange, a grape, or a sliver of cheese for Crowley to take with his hand. Aziraphale, still watching the actors on stage, pressed an orange segment against Crowley’s lips, which Crowley took without hesitation, and then pulled another segment for himself, as if they had never existed in a world where that wasn’t _done_. They had finished eating the orange, split between the two of them, before it caught up to either of them what had just happened.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s face and gently sighed. The freckles on his nose appeared almost golden as the sunlight filtered down on his flushing face. Aziraphale moved slightly in an attempt to keep the sun out of Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley, from his upside-down vantage point, looked up at Aziraphale. “Your halo is showing, Angel.”

“Hmm?”

“Your halo. When the light hits you just right from behind, your hair glows. It’s your halo. That’s the first thing I ever noticed about you.”

Aziraphale, though striving to be supportive, was a bit frustrated with Crowley’s progress at the piano. They sat together, side by side, on the narrow piano bench.

“Now, I don’t mean to discourage you, but I must ask. How is it you are so terrible at this?” Aziraphale asked, confused. “You play guitar so well.”

Crowley shook his head and shrugged. “No idea. I probably just need more practice.”

“I’d say you definitely do,” Aziraphale replied, leaning against him to reach for the music book to try to find something simpler for Crowley to attempt to play. “Let’s try this one.” He stood up to walk around the bench and leaned over Crowley from behind, guiding his hands along the keys. He leaned further over Crowley’s shoulder and placed his hand atop Crowley’s hand, pressing his fingers down on the specific keys of the chord. “This chord is _C_ Major. But if you do this,” he shifted one of Crowley’s fingers, “It’s a _G_.”

“A _G_ , you say?” Crowley replied, leaning his head to the side, exposing his neck.

Aziraphale could practically feel the heat from Crowley’s pulse against his cheek. He added that to the laundry list of frustrations regarding teaching Crowley piano.

Crowley sat down in his usual booth in the corner. Newt came over with a cup of coffee and sat down across, sliding the cup over. “Aziraphale isn’t here yet.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I actually have a few commissions I need to work on anyway,” Crowley said, digging money out of his pocket.

Newt held his hand up. “No charge.”

“Now don’t you start that, too. I’ll pay for my coffee,” Crowley argued.

“Refills are free,” Newt said.

“But I haven’t paid for the _first_ fill yet to _refill_.”

“We haven’t got any new cups. All the ones here have already been filled at least once,” Newt replied.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Newt shook his head with a grin. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You make him happy,” Newt replied, raising his head as Aziraphale walked through the front door. He had on a blue oxford shirt instead of his usual white.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley arched an eyebrow at Newt before turning his attention to Aziraphale. “Hey, Aziraphale! Nice shirt. Suits you.”

“Ahh,” Aziraphale preened at the compliment before walking into the back to begin his shift.

“See what I mean?” Newt whispered as he stood up.

Sometimes, when the weather was particularly nice, they would spend Aziraphale’s meal break from work with the ducks. On those days, they didn’t smoke. It was just a nice little picnic and relaxation under the apple tree in their own personal Eden.

On this particularly lovely September afternoon, Aziraphale sat on the blanket, his back comfortably resting upon the tree, reading his book. Crowley lay out on the blanket with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. That was a thing they did now, and Crowley took every opportunity he could to do so. He strummed and drummed on his guitar while Aziraphale mindlessly scratched along Crowley’s scalp with his free hand.

“That sounds familiar,” Aziraphale mused, leaning his head back against the tree with his eyes closed as he put his book down. He sighed quietly, smiling as he did so. “It’s nice.”

Crowley grinned up at him and quietly began to sing along with the music he was playing.

_More than words is all I ever needed you to show  
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me  
'Cause I'd already know_

Aziraphale opened his eyes, beaming down at Crowley as he listened. “That’s the first song I ever heard you play.”

_More than words to show you feel  
That your love for me is real_

Crowley closed his eyes to lean into Aziraphale’s touch as he continued to pull fingers delicately through auburn hair. He lifted his eyes back up to search Aziraphale’s face, his own expression open and vulnerable, as he continued to sing.

_Just by saying I love you_

Crowley smiled up at Aziraphale, gently putting his guitar down next to them on the blanket. He sat upright and turned around to face him. Crowley bit his lip gently, tilting his head as his eyes tracked from Aziraphale’s eyes to his lips. He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss upon them before pulling away shyly with a flush across his cheeks.

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled, reaching up to touch his own lips with his fingertips. “I’m not quite sure I caught that,” he said, quietly hopeful. “Could you do it again?”

Crowley nodded as his eyebrows shot up in a wobbly smile. He climbed into Aziraphale’s lap, holding his face in his hands to kiss him properly as Aziraphale slipped his arms around his waist to hold him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we have [More Than Words by Extreme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrIiLvg58SY). This won't be the last time, either.  
>   
> They watched Hamlet in [Regent's Park](https://openairtheatre.com/)
> 
> I think I'm going to start doing updates on Saturdays, with an occasional bonus chapter now and then mid-week as time permits. We've still got a way to go on this roller coaster.  
>   
> While I don't know for certain how many chapters it's going to be yet, I anticipate at least 18. Maybe more, maybe less, but probably more. There's a lot of story I intend to tell here, and though most of the major plot points are already written, there are surrounding events that will need to be filled out as we go along. I'll keep you updated as progress continues.  
> We're looking at a Strangers to Friends to Lovers to Enemies(ish) to Friends to Lovers thing going on here. There _WILL_ be a happy ending, I promise.  
> It's just going to be a bit of a rollercoaster until we get there.  
> But don't worry. The hurt doesn't start yet. We're in a happy part now, and will continue to be for at least the next few chapters.
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life! Please feel free to comment any questions or thoughts you have! I love to hear from you.


	7. I Will Live In Thy Heart, Die In Thy Lap, And Be Buried In Thine Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting more comfortable with someone can be life-changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bonus Wednesday! In honor of Good Omens airing on BBC tonight, please enjoy this new chapter to help herald in fresh fandom blood.
> 
> The songs in this chapter:  
> Lifehouse, [Breathing (Acoustic cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ezeNgedusI)  
> The song that Crowley plays without singing is [ This version of Bohemian Rhapsody for an acoustic guitar.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfZmMJKIBec%22)  
> And [ I'm Yours by Jason Mraz.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A81aPPxOPhE)  
>   
> The Chapter Title is from Much Ado About Nothing.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

That first kiss underneath the apple tree had led to many more, mostly under that same apple tree, but occasional stolen moments here and there. It was all so thrilling and wonderful. Each kiss had been perfectly lovely, the sort of thing that someone with an open mind might see happening on the street and smile warmly at the sight. It was all perfectly innocent… Until it wasn’t.

But that wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing, really. Perhaps _complicated_ might be the better word for it.

It was a new thing, being able to reach over and touch Aziraphale whenever he wanted without any sort of pretext or excuse. Not to mention the kissing. Kissing, oh, kissing was _nice_. Crowley _liked_ kissing. He liked kissing Aziraphale. The angel tasted sweet, except when he ate those blasted garlic pickled cucumbers, but Crowley didn’t even mind that. Don’t expect him to eat one himself, though. Bloody disgusting things. But Aziraphale could marinate in the brine and Crowley would still want to kiss him.

And Aziraphale wanted to kiss him _back_. That was the thing of it. Aziraphale kissed him now. Aziraphale touched him, and it was okay. He _chose_ to. He didn’t need to be high or convinced or asked. For the past month since that first kiss, Aziraphale just did it because he _wanted_ to and if Crowley said _no_ , or _stop_ , or _wait_ , Aziraphale did exactly that. He didn’t get angry about it. He just stopped and showed consideration enough to make sure Crowley was okay.

Crowley _definitely_ liked kissing.

It had taken them six months to get to that first kiss, but he would have waited 6000 years if he had to.

Neither of them had realized that what began as any other average kiss underneath the apple tree had progressed into something a little less vertical.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale pulled back momentarily, his mind finally catching up to the rest of him.

Crowley couldn’t think. There wasn’t enough blood left in his brain. It was busy being diverted elsewhere.

“Crowley, are you… Is this okay?”

“What?”

“Should I stop?”

“No,” Crowley breathed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “I mean, yes, it’s okay. No, don’t stop.”

Aziraphale leaned back into him, continuing to press their hips together.

“Should I…” Aziraphale’s fingertips slipped tentatively along the waistband of Crowley’s jeans towards the button.

“No!” Crowley grabbed his wrist, lifting his head, eyes wide in panic. Aziraphale’s hips immediately stopped. Crowley relaxed again. “No, please. Just… just keep doing what you’re already doing.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, studying Crowley’s reaction carefully before resuming his movement. His voice was low and rough. “May… May I kiss you, then?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale leaned down to press his lips against Crowley’s as he built up a slow, but steady, rhythm. Crowley, wrapping himself around his angel, parted his lips slightly to invite him in. Aziraphale lifted Crowley gently with one arm, bracing himself with the other, deepening their kiss. He could feel Crowley growing harder beneath him, encouraging him to push himself more firmly against him. Building more friction with each grinding motion, he couldn’t help but notice the delightful whimpers and sounds Crowley made beneath him.

Aziraphale pulled his head back to watch the expressions flickering across Crowley’s face, keeping pace as they bucked harder against one another, fully clothed, on the grass. Crowley’s eyes were closed as his head tilted back, mouthing silent words and wordless sounds while clinging tightly to Aziraphale.

Crowley’s eyes flew open wide as release overtook him. “A-Angel, Angel, Angel, Angel _angel_ angel ** _angel_** ,” he stuttered and babbled as each wave crashed through his body.

No one had ever given him an orgasm before. All of his previous partners merely took what they wanted and left, or told him to leave, once they were done with him. It wasn’t his first time to come, as he had given himself a few here and there over the years, but this was nothing like what he had ever experienced on his own. By himself, he’d felt a little tremble, but nothing particularly exciting. It was only ever enough to just take the edge off. But this time, right there and right then, the sky had gone red and the stars were crashing down.

The way Crowley thrashed beneath Aziraphale as if possessed by a demon would been enough on its own. What truly sent Aziraphale tumbling into his own bliss, however, was hearing the hoarse and frenzied manner in which Crowley’s voice chanted out a mantra of the precious name he had given him the night they met.

“Angel, Angel, oh, **_fuck_** , _Angel_ …”

Aziraphale groaned into Crowley’s shoulder, pulling Crowley’s knee up against his side as their hips bucked together through the aftershocks. Aziraphale made an attempt to move off of Crowley to lie beside him, but Crowley wouldn’t let go of him. Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows and knees above Crowley with his head on his chest, sheltering him, listening to his love’s heartbeat as he recovered

It was already beginning to grow dark when Aziraphale felt a kiss on his hair. Aziraphale lifted his head to smile back at Crowley. “Still with me, then?” Aziraphale leaned down to place a soft kiss against Crowley’s chest, right above his heart.

Crowley looked up at him and smiled, running his hands through feathery platinum curls. “With you,” he echoed.

Aziraphale sighed with contentment, nuzzling his cheek against Crowley’s chest underneath his hand. “Come back to mine?”

Crowley’s hand stilled.

“Well,” Aziraphale felt Crowley tense beneath him slightly. “I thought you might like to get cleaned up. I know I need to, anyway. Maybe we could order in a bite to eat?”

Crowley relaxed. “Yeah, that… I’d like that.”

“Right, so,” Aziraphale spoke as he unlocked the door to let them both in, “I’ll just grab a quick shower, won’t take five minutes, and then you can have a go. I figure it takes you a bit longer to wash your hair than it does me, but you can take as much time as you’d like. I’m not in any hurry. But while I’m in there, be thinking about what you’d like for dinner so we can put in the order.

Crowley nodded, wandering over to sit on the piano bench and peck at the keys randomly. Once he heard the shower running, he plucked out a couple of quick riffs, then sat on his hands until Aziraphale returned a few minutes later.

Crowley smiled as he saw him walking into the room. This was normal, but in this particular case, he had specific reasons. Crowley had many words to describe Aziraphale, but the sight before him was, most accurately, described as _soft_. He was a vision in tartan fleece pajama bottoms, a barefoot Adonis in a faded t-shirt, haloed and practically glowing from the hallway light behind him.

As far as Crowley was concerned, every curve was a comfort. Every line on his face a testament to a kind smile. He made Crowley feel almost like he were witness to something holy and sacred just by being in his presence. Under normal circumstances, that would make Crowley nervous, as if he would burst into flames if he stepped foot near it, or melt into a puddle of goo in the floor if he got too close. Instead, however, he _craved_ it. If he was the moth, Aziraphale was the flame. If he were going to burn, well, it probably wouldn’t be that bad when he got used to it. Aziraphale would see to that.

“Angel,” Crowley said, awe lifting slightly when he noticed the design on Aziraphale’s shirt. “Angel, are you aware there are _wings_ on your shirt?”

Aziraphale looked down at the dove on his shirt, rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Angel… _Angel_ ,” Crowley repeated. “Did someone ring a bell?”

“What bell?”

“Every time a bell rings—”

“Oh, aren’t you so clever,” Aziraphale scoffed.

The sight of Aziraphale’s wet hair sticking up in little spikes as he continually finger-curled it almost mindlessly, especially while being particularly petulant, was absolutely adorable. It drove Crowley to distraction. He stood there, watching with a hint of a smile on his tilted head, as Aziraphale repeatedly plucked, twirled, and released every hair on his head.

“What?” Aziraphale asked. “If I don’t do this, it will dry flat and I’ll look _ridiculous_. It’ll be a _complete_ nightmare.”

“You look ridiculous _now_ ,” Crowley grinned, biting his bottom lip to stifle an affectionate laugh.

“Strong words from a L’Oréal model.” Aziraphale mimed tossing his non-existent long hair mockingly.

Crowley snorted and the laugh found its way to the surface.

“Go get in the shower,” Aziraphale pointed down the hallway. “There’s a towel for you already in there. You’re welcome to use anything I have.”

Crowley took an exaggerated bow and headed down the hall to the shower. He took off his dirty clothes, now much more uncomfortable than before, having dried a bit, and stepped into the shower. There was something Crowley couldn’t quite name about standing in the same spot where Aziraphale had stood minutes prior, completely naked and vulnerable. He lifted his face into the water as it ran over his skin and down his body. It was intoxicating, especially after the activities that brought him here to begin with.

Aziraphale had given him a gift he didn’t know could be like that. He had always just assumed he couldn’t feel that way. He looked down between his legs. “Where have _you_ been?”

He groaned and covered his face in his hands. _I’m in the flat of the man who gave me the first orgasm I’ve ever received from someone else, and here I am, standing in his shower, talking to my own dick. I guess this is the day I’m having._

He took his time, leisurely washing his hair. He traced his fingertips along the shower tiles, wondering if Aziraphale ever did the same, while letting the cream rinse sit in his hair.

It was nice, he thought, lingering in a hot shower. It was so much better than the spot-cleaning and hair washing he did in service station restrooms. That was really one of the main drawbacks to living out of one’s car, he thought. Otherwise, it wasn’t all that bad, though he wouldn’t recommend it to just anybody.

 _He’s waiting on you,_ Crowley reminded himself. _You know how the angel gets when he gets peckish._ Reluctantly, he turned off the water and got out of the shower.

“Shit,” Crowley swore out loud. “I forgot to grab a change of clothes.”

Crowley stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. He saw a slightly wrinkled shirt draped over the arm of a chair. _That will do nicely_ , Crowley thought. It was better than the alternative, anyway. He picked it up, lifting it to his nose. _Oh, for fuck sake_ , Crowley thought, rolling his eyes back in delight. _It even smells like him._ Bergamot, cedar, pear, and… Something else he could only identify as specifically _Aziraphale_.

Crowley slipped the shirt on, buttoning a few of the buttons. It was too big on him, but it was comfortable. It was a strange sensation, wearing Aziraphale’s shirt. He was wrapped in softness that smelled of _his_ angel - he could say that now - as if cocooned in a pair of warm, safe, feathery-soft wings. He closed his eyes, rubbing the unbuttoned sleeve cuff along his face, inhaling deeply.

Aziraphale looked up as Crowley stepped out into the hallway, still drying his hair with the towel in his hand. There was something about seeing Crowley walking around his flat in nothing but one of his own button downs that made him lightheaded. Aziraphale was enchanted by the way it hung loose across him, the collar slipping slightly off of one shoulder to expose his throat and clavicle where the top buttons were undone, shirt-tail softly draped while it simultaneously clung along the curve of his backside as he moved his long, slender legs on bare feet throughout the flat. It pulled the breath from his chest, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. That just left more room for him to inhale all the sweetness of Crowley.

“I hope it’s not a bother. I forgot to bring in a change of clothes, and I saw this on the chair in your room,” Crowley explained as he sauntered down the hall towards the front.

Aziraphale hadn’t processed that he was being spoken to at first. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I didn’t have anything else to put on, so I took your shirt.”

“Jolly good. Yes, rather,” Aziraphale replied. He cleared his throat. “Have you thought about what you might like to eat?”

“I don’t care, as long as there are chips. “

“I can work with that, and there _will_ be,” Aziraphale promised.

And there _were_ chips. The two of them sat on the sofa, nibbling chips and talking about everything and nothing. This wasn’t the first time they had sat together to share a meal and a conversation there, though it was the first time Crowley had done it in only Aziraphale’s shirt. Usually, they would end up kissing a bit on the couch and then cuddle up together to watch something or listen to music and talk. Occasionally, Aziraphale would fall asleep while Crowley was still there. That was when Crowley would take his leave, tucking a blanket around the angel’s shoulders and locking the door behind himself after letting himself out.

What was one more change after the day he already had?

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered against his ear, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but… Would you stay? Would you stay tonight, with me? We don’t have to do anything else. I just want to hold you.”

“What’cha cookin’, good lookin’?” Crowley asked playfully as Aziraphale opened the door to greet him.

“It’s called a _pasta bake_ ,” Aziraphale answered with a twinkle in his eye.

Crowley thought the way he said _pasta bake_ was precious.

“It’s baked pasta with veg,” Aziraphale explained as if this were some new and revolutionary recipe.

“Ah, it sounds as delicious as it smells,” Crowley replied, placing his guitar case on the coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind—”

“Will you play for me?” Aziraphale said with excitement. “I can listen while I cook.”

“I’d love to, Angel,” Crowley replied warmly. He opened the case, pulled out his guitar, and began to play.

_I'm finding my way back to sanity again  
Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there  
I take a breath and hold on tight  
Spin around one more time  
And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace_

_'Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying  
Even if you don't wanna speak tonight  
That's alright, alright with me  
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door  
And listen to you breathing  
It's where I wanna be, yeah  
Where I wanna be_

Aziraphale sat down in his chair to listen, enthralled as he watched Crowley play. It felt nice, he thought, having his own personal little concert. He might not have normally been much for this sort of music, but he didn’t care what it was as long as Crowley was the one playing.

Aziraphale thought he recognized the next song Crowley played, in spite of there being no singing along with it.

“I’ve heard this before,” Aziraphale said. “But I think it was a piano piece. Who is the composer?”

Crowley laughed with genuine delight and affection. “That would be Freddie Mercury,” Crowley explained.

“Oh, that Queen fellow, yes. I remember now.”

Crowley winked as he continued to play, starting a new song.

_Well you done done me and you bet I felt it  
I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted  
I fell right through the cracks  
And now I'm trying to get back  
Before the cool done run out  
I'll be giving it my best-est  
And nothing's going to stop me but divine intervention  
I reckon it's again my turn  
To win some or learn some_

_But I won't hesitate no more, no more  
It cannot wait, I'm yours_

He glanced at Aziraphale, catching his eyes briefly with a shy smile as he sang.

_And it's our God-forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved loved_

_But I won't hesitate no more, no more  
It cannot wait I'm yours_

_Well open up your mind and see like me  
Open up your plans and damn you're free  
Look into your heart and you'll find the sky is yours  
So please don't please don't please don't  
There's no need to complicate  
'Cause our time is short_

Aziraphale smelled something.

“Oh, the bake! Oh, I forgot all about the bake! Oh, it’ll be burned to—” He jumped up, running to the kitchen as Crowley laughed through the last line of the song.

_  
This, oh this, this is our fate, I'm yours_

Aziraphale walked into the living room with all of the dramatic flair of one Richard Burbage himself. “I do hope you enjoy charcoal, because I’ve burned our dinner all to Hell.”

“You work in a diner. You should be better at this.”

“You do realize I don’t actually _cook_ the food, don’t you? I serve it and then pick up after it.”

“ _Sometimes_ you do, when you switch with Newt.”

“Actually, I encourage the customers to have tea until someone else comes in, usually.”

“You won’t even sell a sandwich?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“What are they supposed to nibble with their tea?”

“They can have pie, cake, or biscuits. I don’t have to make those.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes affectionately at Aziraphale. “But otherwise, you’re kitchen adjacent, at least, aren’t you? Haven’t you picked up _anything_ by proximity?”

“You haven’t picked up any better driving habits, and you’re intimately close to every single car you pass on the road.”

“I’m never close to them long enough. I always pass before anything can sink in,” Crowley grinned wickedly.

Aziraphale laughed in spite of himself.

“I’m only teasing, Angel. I’m sure it will be fine. You have yet to disappoint me, and I don’t see it happening over a homemade dinner. You’ve never made anything I didn’t like.”

“You haven’t seen it. It has been immolated to a vengeful kitchen god.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Crowley soothed as he took a peek into the pan. “It’s just a _little_ scorch. It’ll be fine.”

“I have _standards_ ,” Aziraphale said, haughtily.

“You don’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Wherever would I be if you _actually_ had standards?” Crowley smiled sappily as he tilted his head down to look up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale scoffed affectionately. “Well, I’m not eating that. I’ll figure out something else to make.”

“You do whatever it is you’re going to do, but I’ve got my dinner sorted right here.”

Crowley crunched loudly through the entire meal, smiling genuinely at Aziraphale occasionally.

“You can’t possibly be enjoying that,” Aziraphale grimaced after watching Crowley continue to smile through a particularly difficult swallow.

“It’s good for you,” Crowley said, smacking his lips and taking a revealingly large drink of water. “Charcoal is cleansing.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. _This is my idiot_ , he thought. _He’s an idiot and he loves me, even when I’m a bigger idiot than he is._

_And I love him._

“Crowley?” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him to his chest in the dark. Crowley had been spending the night more often since the first night Aziraphale had asked him to. Mostly it was for spooning, though they had come quite close to forking a few times before Crowley shut it down, opting to browse through the other options of the flatware drawer instead.

“Yeah?” Crowley’s voice was soft and quiet.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his temple. “Do you remember the last night you spent anywhere other than here?”

Crowley thought about it for a moment. “You know, I don’t think I do.”

“Did you move in and forget to tell me?”

Crowley’s laugh engulfed Aziraphale like a light in the darkness. “I think I may have.”

Aziraphale pulled him closer, nuzzling his nose against Crowley’s cheek. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking you to. I made a key for you already. It’s on the worktop in our kitchen.”


	8. The Little Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An open book must still be read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the music for the end of the chapter. [ Liszt, La Campanella. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1Dvg2MxQn8)
> 
> It was rumored that Liszt had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for musical ability.

Crowley gradually brought more and more of his worldly possessions in from his car over the next few weeks. On a particularly dreary November evening, right before it began to rain, Aziraphale had just gotten home from work. When he walked into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes, he couldn’t help but notice a shiny flash of red and black as Crowley quickly slipped past him to put something in the closet.

“You kept them,” Aziraphale said, quietly, just before Crowley had managed to get the closet door to open.

Crowley tensed his shoulders as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “Mm… Y-yeah,” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What do you plan to do with them? You can’t wear them anymore like that, can you?” Aziraphale asked out of curiosity. He wasn’t one to judge. He simply didn’t understand.

“I can’t just throw them away,” he whispered, clutching the broken shoes protectively to his chest. “I _can’t_.” He slipped down to kneel before the closet door.

“Oh, no, my dear, no, I didn’t mean for you to…” Aziraphale reached for Crowley, surprised when he flinched.

He set haunted eyes in Aziraphale’s direction. “Please. I… I need to keep them.” Crowley spoke softly, his voice sounding disembodied and lost. “They threw me away," Crowley said in a deep, but shaky breath. “I can’t… I can’t do that. I can’t. _I won’t_.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “No! Oh, no. Crowley, I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort. I’m so sorry,” he said, cautiously crouching next to Crowley, just as afraid to touch as he was not to. 

Crowley’s breath hitched as he lay his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Thank you, Angel.” Aziraphale took this as permission to wrap his arms around him.

They sat together in the floor, Aziraphale rubbing Crowley’s back and shoulders reassuringly. He placed a tender kiss into Crowley’s hair. “Whenever you’re ready, could I help find a safe place to put them for you? Would that be all right?”

Crowley nodded, offering up the intact shoe. He leaned into Aziraphale, looking up at him from where he was cradled against Aziraphale’s chest. “I trust you. But I’m not quite ready to hand this one over yet,” he said, still holding the broken shoe against his heart.

“That’s quite all right,” Aziraphale murmured, lips brushing Crowley’s forehead. “You can take as long as you need.”

Every few days, Aziraphale would sit at his desk reading passages from one or more of his collection of different bibles. He took notes down on paper, reading over them again before putting them into a binder. He glanced over previous notes, stroking his fingers along the pages reverently before leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, smiling.

It was important to him, this time he shared with God. It was valuable, a way to ground himself. But more than that, it was a reminder, he found, that no matter what was happening in the world, he could carve out this liminal space to just exist and let go, even if only for a few minutes.

At the end of his prayer, Aziraphale opened his eyes. Crowley was, quite literally, perched on the back of the couch, an elbow on his knee with his bare feet on the blanket spread over the cushions, warm golden eyes watching him affectionately.

“Must you sit like that?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale scoffed and grinned in spite of himself.

“Why do you do that?” Crowley asked him, nodding at the binder and the bible on the desk.

“Oh, this? I suppose… Well, I suppose this is how I worship.”

“But why?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, stretching his arms and back before he spoke. “Never really felt comfortable going into a building full of people who looked down on me because of how I was made to love,” he replied.

Crowley looked down at the floor, quirking the edge of his mouth to the side as he considered the answer he had been given. When he couldn’t quite comprehend it, he asked for more clarity. “But if you never felt comfortable going to church, why do you still pray?”

“One does not necessarily preclude the other, my dear.”

Crowley pursed his lips into a pout as he tilted his head to the side, brows furrowed in a glorious desire for an understanding that had yet to manifest.

“It isn’t a requirement to pray _only_ in a church,” Aziraphale explained further. "Nor does it lend any more weight to the moral argument therein.”

“But don’t you need some sort of guidance?”

Aziraphale smiled peacefully. “Yes, I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I do it.”

“No, I mean, don’t you need…” Crowley sighed, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. “The thing the person at the front does, to lead the service. Surely there are _some_ more accepting. Not _everyone_ , mind, but at least _some_.”

“Oh, I know there _are_ churches that wouldn’t make me feel the way they did as a child,” Aziraphale reflected, “But I didn’t realize that until I was much older and already set in my ways. I like doing it like this, it feels more intimate, more personal. I don’t need to prove my faith to anyone else as long as She knows.”

“What do you get out of it?”

Aziraphale considered before he gave his answer. This felt important, he thought. With all that Crowley had gone through this year, was it possible he was seeking answers for himself? Was he asking merely as a method of learning more about what made Aziraphale tick? Regardless of the reason, it warranted a measured and considered response. Crowley’s questions deserved to be taken seriously. He decided he would do well to choose his words carefully. “Comfort. I like the feeling my belief gives me, that someone or something full of love and grace is out there.”

“But you don’t _know_.”

“No, I suppose not. But that wouldn’t be faith, then, would it?” Aziraphale asked, shifting in his chair slightly. “Knowing instead of believing.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised slightly as he pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, considering. “What do you pray for, Angel?”

“Understanding, mostly. Patience, hope, good things for those I love. Sometimes for there to be an extra biscuit in the bottom of a package after I pull what might be the last one out. Anything, really. Doesn’t strictly _need_ an answer so long as the conversation continues.”

“It’s not really a conversation, though, is it? When you’re the only one talking?”

“I still feel Her there, and that’s enough for me.”

“But what about all the bad things that happen? Where is God then? Doesn’t she care?”

Aziraphale knew how delicate this question might be, and that the answer was important. “I don’t have all of the answers, I’m afraid. I doubt I ever could. But," he said, opening his binder and flipping through his notes, "I've actually been giving that a lot of thought. I think that there obviously has to be two sides. That's the whole point, so people can make choices.” Aziraphale struggled somewhat in piecing together what he had to say in a way that would make sense to anyone else. “That's, that's what being human means. Choices. The price of free will is paid in the things we do, but that doesn’t always mean it’s our fault. Sometimes the price comes from what we do to one another, whether or not the actions of one were directly related to the other. Just as we have the free will to do as we like, so to do others have the ability to do us harm. It isn’t that She doesn’t care. It’s that we cannot have the free will to make the choices we want if She makes every decision for us.”

Crowley looked at him skeptically.

“It's all part of the Great Plan,” Aziraphale explained. “It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable.”

“The Great Plan's ineffable?”

“Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Crowley replied.

“Some people think it's best not to speculate, but I've done so anyway." He pondered how to actually attempt to put words to the ineffable. "Let me ask you this,” Aziraphale reasoned. “If someone were to offer you the ability to be _completely_ safe from any and all harm, but in exchange, you could never again make _any_ decision about your own life, and would instead be bound to live it out without even being able to decide how to wear your hair, how to speak, who to love, or anything else that makes you uniquely _you_ , would you want that? Would that be _enough_ life for you? To live as someone else’s ideal and not your own?”

Crowley looked thoughtful. “No. I don’t imagine it would, actually.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, either,” Aziraphale smiled fondly at him. “So now _I_ have another question for _you_. Why do you ask? Do you pray?”

“Nobody’s listening to my prayers anymore, Angel,” he said in a whisper of a sigh. Crowley thought back to the last time he prayed. Not like a passing hope or wish of a thing, but a real, proper bargaining-and-pleading with God prayer. It was the evening he had been attacked. Crowley vividly remembered begging God, and not for the first time, to either take away his life or take away his pain.

Crowley looked off in the distance briefly before turning eyes that had seen things he’d much rather forget back towards Aziraphale. It was in that moment that he realized maybe someone _had_ been listening, after all. Someone had sent him an angel to take away his pain. Not all at once, but gradually, and in ways that felt more solidly permanent. “Besides,” Crowley brightened, smiling warmly, “I’ve got an angel already. I’ve got all the Heaven I need right here.”

Aziraphale watched as the bathroom door opened, spilling vaporous clouds out into the amber lamplight of their bedroom. Scents of crisp apple and fresh roses filled the air as Crowley stepped out, wrapped in the towel he held loosely around hips that swayed with each step. Grabbing a shirt from the closet, he held it up against his chin in front of the free-standing full-length mirror in the corner. “Maybe this one? What do you think?” Crowley asked, glancing momentarily at Aziraphale through the reflection in the mirror before looking back at the shirt in his hand.

Aziraphale found it entirely intoxicating. “I think,” Aziraphale said, walking over to stand behind Crowley, “That everything lovely on you is even lovelier once it’s off.” He brushed the wet hair from Crowley’s shoulder over to the other side, tracing his lips up Crowley’s neck.

“But I’ve just gotten clean,” Crowley said as he smiled the two of them standing in the mirror.

“All the more fun for me to get you dirty again,” Aziraphale whispered into his ear.

Crowley watched through the mirror as Aziraphale’s hands roamed along the expanses of his exposed, damp skin. He closed his eyes as one arm wrapped around his chest, leaning back into the embrace. He caught himself as he felt a growing hardness pressing against him as Aziraphale’s other hand came to rest on his hip.

Aziraphale felt Crowley tense within his arms, seeing the flash of panic in his eyes through the mirror before he spun around and dropped to his knees.

“Could we do this instead?” Crowley looking up at him with a flash of fear in his eyes as he reached for Aziraphale’s waistband.

“Wait,” Aziraphale said, gently grabbing Crowley’s hand to stop it. “As much as I would enjoy that, I think we need to talk about this. What’s going on?”

“You’re cross,” Crowley looked so vulnerable from where he knelt before Aziraphale.

“No, not at all. That’s not it, I assure you,” Aziraphale said, cupping Crowley’s chin with his hand to tilt his head up. “And do please get up. Come sit with me?” Aziraphale went to sit on the foot of the bed, patting the spot beside him.

Begrudgingly, Crowley got up from the floor and sat down next to Aziraphale. “M’sorry,” he muttered.

“Whatever are you sorry for?”

Crowley covered his eyes with his hands. Everything was too much right now. “Not being enough.”

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale regretted how sharply his voice rose. Regaining control, he quickly added, “You’re more than enough.”

“I _know_ what you want, Aziraphale. And I’m not upset with you about it. I just… I _don’t_ …” Crowley sighed heavily. “I _know._ I mean, I…” He let out a soft growl of frustration.

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. What happened? What did I do?” Aziraphale tried to make his voice as soft and comforting as possible.

“Look… I… I don’t…” Crowley took a deep breath. “I’ll do _anything_ you want, Aziraphale. I will. But _I_ don’t want to… Hasn’t everything _else_ been enough?”

Aziraphale was slowly beginning to understand, possibly. “Do you mean that you don’t want to be penetrated?”

“Ugh, don’t _say it_ like that,” Crowley recoiled. “But yeah, I mean, no. I don’t… I don’t want that.”

Aziraphale smiled reassuringly, wrapping an arm across Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s perfectly reasonable. I don’t mind that at all. Did you want to be the one to penetrate me, then?”

Crowley paled as a stricken expression contorted his face. “No,” he breathed harshly, physically shuddering. “I don’t want to do that to you, I wouldn’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand this reaction, but he wasn’t sure now was the time to get too much further into it. He was determined to make Crowley feel safe and comfortable in their home, especially in their bed, and right now it was obvious that Crowley did not feel either of those things.

With every ounce of compassion and tenderness he could muster, Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands. He stroked his thumbs gently beneath the eyes that were closed so tightly, as if by blocking out the world it would go away.

“Crowley? Would you look at me, please? You don’t have to, but… Could you?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Crowley detested being so vulnerable. All of this had been a lot. Too much. He wanted to crawl beneath a rock and sleep for a century. He just told the man who he was wildly in love with that he didn’t want to fuck or _be_ fucked by him. This man, no, this _angel_ , who showed him so much kindness. Every other touch had been so much _better_ with Aziraphale. Maybe he _could_ …

_No,_ Crowley thought _. No. Don’t ruin this. Fucking will ruin everything._

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s eyes shifted in thought before shutting tight once more. He tilted his head sadly, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s. “Crowley,” he said softly, “I don’t want _anything_ you don’t want.” Aziraphale brushed his lips chastely against Crowley’s own. “Please don’t go,” he whispered.

Crowley’s eyes shot open. “I don’t want to go _anywhere_ , Angel. Not without _you_.”

Lips met lips once more, arms and legs wrapping around one another, afraid to let the other go lest they disappear into the aether.

Crowley pulled his head back slightly, breaking their kiss. “I could still…” He bit his lip, eyes traveling down to the renewed hardness that began the whole conversation. “If… If you wanted.”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale replied. “Actually, if, if you were amenable, that is, I had something else in mind that perhaps you might enjoy. It’s non-penetrative—”

“You have _got_ to stop saying it like that, Angel. That’s not a nice word,” Crowley said, sneering without malice.

Aziraphale laughed, his eyes crinkling along the sides in a way that Crowley would fondly think about at random intervals in the day. “I’m afraid that’s the best way I can describe it.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, muffling his words. “I already told you, Angel. You can do whatever you want to me as long as it isn’t _that_.”

“You have my word, my dear. I will not ask that of you, nor will I expect it from you.” Aziraphale shifted to sit up next to Crowley on the bed. “But I have no desire to do anything _to_ you, but rather something _with_ you. With your permission, of course, may I show you what I mean?”

Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, traveling down along all of the angel’s buttons before tracing back up to his lips, nodding his affirmation.

Aziraphale leaned down for a quick peck before he began to undress. He moved to position himself above Crowley, feeling his partner opening his legs to make room for him. “No,” Aziraphale explained, placing a hand on the outside of Crowley’s thigh. “No, you’re going to keep them together. That’s how this works,” Aziraphale explained as he reached into the bedside table for a tube. “You’re going to lie on your back with your legs closed together. I’m going to do whatever I can to make you feel good, and feel safe. Do you understand?”

Ever the wordsmith, Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale opened the tube, distributing what he believed was an appropriate amount of lube into his hand to warm it. Gently, he slid his hand between Crowley’s legs, making sure not to miss underneath the bollocks. Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose and bit his lip, but continued to silently watch things unwind. Once Crowley was properly slick, Aziraphale applied what was left on his hand to his own member, stroking it a few times to prepare before wiping his hand on Crowley’s bath towel, which was now beneath them.

“Now, if at any time, you’re uncomfortable, you’ll tell me, yes? Are you ready?”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale straddled Crowley’s closed legs, lifting his bollocks out of the way to position his own cock just underneath. He pressed in between Crowley’s legs slowly, watching the expression for any signs of hesitation. What he saw instead was a surprised smile as he moved back and forth a few times.

“Is this okay?” He asked, arching his eyebrow and scrunching up his nose at the gasp Crowley made with a particularly eager thrust.

“This is _very_ okay,” Crowley replied, grinning as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck to bring him close enough to kiss.

Newt had asked Aziraphale to switch short shifts with him so he and Anathema could go to some sort of appointment later in the week. Aziraphale was more than happy to do so, as he hadn’t any plans that day, regardless. Crowley had been taking on more art commissions and spending more time busking while Aziraphale was at the diner, saying something about needing to save up for something he wanted to purchase. It was fine, of course, as they spent plenty of time together at home in the evenings, anyway. That was how he found himself coming home early one particularly dreary and cold December afternoon.

He could hear music coming from the other side of the door as he fumbled in his pocket for his key. He stopped and leaned against the wall next to the door to listen until the music stopped.

“What on Earth was that?” He wondered aloud.

Reaching for his key again, he noticed the slightly older, but perfectly gorgeous woman who recently moved in across the way standing in the hallway as well. She must have changed her hair again, he thought. She had been a redhead the other day. Today it was blonde ponytails on either side of her head.

“He’s not done yet,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“He’s going to play at least two or three more,” she said. “He does this most days when you’re at work, except when the weather is nice.” She extended her hand out to him. “Tracy.”

He took her hand with a smile. “Aziraphale. Pleasure to meet you properly, finally. I’m terribly sorry if the music is disturbing you,” Aziraphale apologized.

“Oh, no, not at all,” she assured him warmly. “On the contrary, I find it quite delightful.”

“What does he usually play?” Aziraphale asked, not taking his eyes off of the door.

“Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, mostly. Bit o’ Queen. Sometimes I don’t recognize them, ‘specially the ones that he sings along with, but I’m sure I’ve heard them on the radio.”

“Really?” He sighed, still somewhat in awe as he continued to stare at his front door.

“Oh, yes. He’s quite good,” she smiled knowingly at him before entering her flat, closing the door behind her.

The piano began to play once more. Aziraphale very quietly unlocked the door and crept inside, hoping not to disturb or be seen and cause the music end.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s long, slender fingers danced deftly along the keys. Eyes closed, he moved along with the rhythm of the music as if in a trance, never missing a note.

_You’re magnificent_ , Aziraphale thought. _Why would you hide talent like this?_

He cautiously sat down on the coffee table behind Crowley, attempting to will his thundering heart to still lest the sound disturb the wonder happening before him.

“That’s Liszt, La Campanella,” Aziraphale said once the music ended, causing Crowley to jump and turn with a startled yelp. “How is it you can play one of _the_ most complicated pieces ever written for the piano while I’m supposed to be at work, yet you can barely plink out Mary Had a Little Lamb during your lessons? _I_ can’t even play La Campanella, especially not without sheet music.”

Crowley fell still, eyes locked on Aziraphale. _Don’t move_ , he thought. _If you don’t move, maybe he’ll_... _Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s an angel, not a **dinosaur**. What are you doing, you idiot? You’ve been rumbled._

“You play better than I do,” Aziraphale said as he sat next to Crowley on the piano bench. “Why did you ask me to teach you?”

Crowley looked at him, silently pondering whether he should tell the truth or play it cool. He sighed, leaning back against him to look at the ceiling, his temple pressed against Aziraphale’s jaw. “I wanted a reason for you to let me see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may or may not be wondering, this is what these two basically look like right now in the story. (Crowley's eyes are slightly different in that they're a warmer color, and the pupils are wider and more human, but still oval due to the bilateral coloboma) I saw this gif recently and knew I had to put that out there.  
>   
> 


	9. Christmas Carols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of their first Christmas together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be one chapter, but ended up split into Christmas Eve and Christmas day. I'm posting two chapters today, as the Christmas Eve chapter ended up at over 5k by itself and I felt like it needed to be split as well, but still wanted to post those parts together. While the two chapters aren't evenly worded at around 3k and 2k, they were separated at a point I thought was organic to the story.
> 
> We'll see how Christmas Day works out whether or not it's one chapter or more.
> 
> The music for this chapter is [Chasing Cars, cover by Boyce Avenue. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3YWNSyZURE)

Crowley waited for Aziraphale to leave for work before pulling out his phone to make a call. He had been trying to track down a certain book, but upon finding that it was considerably outside of his price range, he found what he thought would be a more affordable, yet welcome, substitute. After a brief discussion of details with the shop owner over the phone, he set out for the bookshop in question.

The first thing Crowley noticed upon walking in was the smell. Dust, old paper, leather, and… _Something_. It probably would have put many others off, but there was _something_ about it that reminded him of Aziraphale.

A man walked up to him. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

Crowley did a double take, looking around. “Do I look like I run a bookshop?”

Suddenly, a rather prim looking man stepped out from between the stacks. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I was looking at—”

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, but that’s not for sale. It must have been mis-shelved,” the shop owner said, plucking the book out of the non-customer’s hands as he guided him towards the exit.

“But I—” The man attempted to protest.

“Do come again,” the owner bid him farewell as he all but pushed him through the door.

Crowley was both nervous and amused as the shop owner turned back around to him.

“May I help you?”

Crowley stumbled over his words as he also stumbled his way over to a locked glass case. “Uh, mm-y-yeah, um…” he said eloquently, pointing through the glass at a specific book.

The man tilted his head to the side, considering something. “Are you quite all right?”

It was strange. Crowley found himself feeling less nervous and more relaxed as the man stepped closer. “You remind me of someone very special to me.” _I can’t believe I just said that_ , he thought.

“I get that a lot. Ah, yes. This one. Are you the one I spoke with on the phone?” He asked as he unlocked the display case with a flourish.

Crowley nodded.

“A.A. Milne has always held a rather special place in my heart.” The man ran a well-manicured hand lovingly along the spine of the book, the golden ring on his left hand catching the light just so. “I must admit, I’m rather hesitant to part with something like this.”

“Is it the money? I, I don’t have much, but I’ve been saving up for this. If it’s not enough, depending on how much you want, if you’ll hold it for me, I’ll find a way to come up with more. Might take a few days, though. I play guitar. Legal, too. I have a license and everything. It’s all above board. Or I could maybe paint something for you, if you like.”

“Oh, no, it’s not about the money,” the man smiled at him with a bit of a mischievous wink. “I’m more concerned with the character of the book recipient, you see.”

“Oh, don’t… Don’t worry about that. It’s not for me.” Crowley assured him through the lack of his own self-assurance as he looked at the floor, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

“I didn’t assume it was,” the man smiled, knowingly. “Though for what it’s worth, I think you would take the best care of it you could.”

Crowley felt a warm acceptance he rarely felt anywhere other than with Aziraphale.

“So,” the shop owner continued. “You’re looking for a gift for someone else?”

Crowley sighed, blowing out his cheeks as his lips popped. “He… Well, he’s the one you remind me of, frankly. I know this would mean a lot to him. I only wish I could afford the other one.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Oh, I don’t even know where to begin. He’s practically an angel. If you were to meet him, you’d know immediately. He loves old books. He has certain shelves that I’m not even allowed to touch, not without proper precautions. He has a collection of bibles, as a matter of fact, that looks almost disturbingly identical to yours over there,” Crowley said, pointing to a shelf. “Actually, if I ever showed him your shop, he’d likely never leave.” The owner of the bookshop fought back a bit of a grin as he continued to listen. “Like I said, he’s almost literally an angel. He thinks tartan is stylish, but on him, it _really_ is. He’s soft, but strong, like a protective cushion, but more fun, like bubble wrap, you know?” Crowley mimed pinching the bubbles between his thumbs and fingers. “Bit of a bastard, but it works for him. And for some reason, I’m pretty sure he loves me, even though he probably shouldn’t.”

The man smiled warmly at Crowley, adjusting his tie. “I think we’ll be able to come up with an arrangement.”

Crowley was out when Aziraphale popped into the flat on his lunch break. _Perfect_ , he thought as he raced into the bedroom. He threw open the closet door, listening carefully for the front door, and began to dig through to pull a box out that had been hidden away in the back of the closet. He quickly, but carefully, tucked it into his satchel. Cautiously setting the closet back to right, he closed the door and left on to his next stop.

As Aziraphale approached the shop, satchel in tow, he noticed a black vintage car parked outside. 

“Oh, Crowley would have a _fit_ if he knew I had been this close to an _actual_ 1926 Bentley,” Aziraphale whispered. Aziraphale knew nothing of cars, but this was Crowley’s _dream_ car. Well, his second, really. There were two models he wittered on about at least five out of seven days a week, the other being the 1933 model, which seemed to be his favorite. Aziraphale was torn between taking a picture to text to him and keeping his surprise a secret. Perhaps he could take the picture and refrain from showing it off until _after_ the gift had been given.

“Pardon me,” Aziraphale said to the head bobbing beneath the counter as he entered the shop, “But do you happen to know the owner of the Bentley parked outside?”

“Name, address, and shoe size?” The man, still appearing to look for something, ignored the question.

Aziraphale, still thinking about the owner of the Bentley, was not prepared for that. “Shoe size? Why do you need his shoe size?”

Aziraphale saw his own reflection in the clerk’s glasses as he finally looked up at him. “Do you know where you are, sir?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale answered in an embarrassed huff, placing his bag on counter. He was irritated at himself for getting confused just then. Aziraphale, as a member of the serving public, enjoyed avoiding small talk as much as the next person, but there were certain courtesies that were generally encouraged in order to smooth transactions along. He _had_ asked a specific question, after all. The man _could_ have simply said _no_.

“I’m going to need to record the shoe size on the agreement.” He ran his hands through his dark hair, the golden band on his left ring finger glinting in the light. “Get a job, he says. It’ll be _fun_ , he says.” The man in dark glasses groaned as he dug around under the counter, talking to himself in a mocking voice. “I should be at home, watching Golden Girls, yelling at plants. Yelling at _him_. Just… generally _yelling_ ,” he muttered. “This is _not_ how I thought I’d be spending my time, searching for a blasted form.” He drummed his long fingers on the counter. “Right, that may have been one of mine,” he said quietly as he sat back in defeat. The motion knocked a clipboard down in front of him.

“Heigh, ho!” He said triumphantly, brandishing a form as he stood up. The thin man peered at the shoe and wrote down a number on the form. The man appeared to look Aziraphale up and down, though it was difficult to determine owing to the sunglasses. Luckily for Aziraphale, he was used to that sort of thing and had grown accustomed to reading the expressions around the frames. “You’re cute, kid, but looks will only get you so far in this world.”

Kid? If anything, Aziraphale thought he was at least 10 years older than the young man sprawling across the counter before him.

At the end of their interaction, the man in black gave Aziraphale a slip with a pick-up date, which he carefully folded and put inside of his wallet before leaving the shop. Peering around his shoulders as if he were about to do something illicit, he quickly pulled out his phone to take a few shots of the antique car before throwing himself into his own car with a cheeky grin, giggling as he made his way home.

Aziraphale had just clocked out from his shift and was about to walk out the front door, having not had enough trash to necessitate his usual routine of lining it up by the door to take out on his way. He gathered his coat and gloves to head back through the front.

He quickly put his things down on a table when he saw Anathema rushing towards him with her arms out.

“Merry Christmas, Aziraphale!” She greeted as she grabbed his hands.

“And a happy Christmas to you as well,” he replied warmly, swinging her hands festively. “It’s ever so lovely to see you again, dear girl, but unfortunately, I was just on my way out.”

“Oh, of course. I understand. Newt told me you’d be getting off work now,” she said as she took her hands back from him to dig through a large paper bag with handles. She pulled out a cream-colored rectangular tin with a tartan pattern. “I brought you cookies!”

“Biscuits,” Newt corrected.

Anathema growled, rolling her eyes. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“And I told you they were biscuits,” Newt replied, not missing a beat.

Anathema rolled her eyes. “I’m from the US. They’re cookies.”

“But you _live_ in the UK. They’re biscuits.”

“ _I_ made them. They’re _cookies_.” Her voice jumped in pitch slightly before she could compose herself again. “ _I_ made _cookies_. If you want to call them biscuits, _you_ can make biscuits.” She turned back towards Aziraphale with a twitch in her eye and a strained smile. “I brought you cookies,” she repeated, holding out the tin while Newt grinned like a madman behind her.

Once the tin was safely in Aziraphale’s hands, she spun back around, pointing her finger accusingly at her husband. “One of these days, you’re going to push me too far and I’m going to snap. And on that day, I’ll bake _you_ into a cookie.”

“That just means I’ll be with you until my last breath,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “When you do turn me into a _biscuit_ , will you eat me?”

“Yes,” she answered without thinking about the connotation. “But you’ll still be a cookie.”

Newt kissed the tip of his wife’s nose. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“I’ll still get to be inside of you,” he whispered.

Anathema was absolutely scandalized. “I’m so sorry about him,” she apologized to Aziraphale, blushing wildly.

“Oh, relax,” Newt said, squeezing her gently. “From what I’ve heard, we’ve got a few things to learn from that one.” Newt nodded towards Aziraphale.

“I beg your pardon!” It was Aziraphale’s turn to be scandalized.

“Shadwell may have mentioned a few things here and there,” Newt said.

“Shadwell?” Aziraphale sputtered.

“What’s a Shadwell?” Anathema asked.

“He’s the custodian,” Aziraphale said, glaring towards the back room.

“He’s this amazing old man, you’d never believe it.” Newt answered at the same time.

“I cannot possibly imagine what business it is of Shadwell’s what I do and do not do, nor can I fathom where he might have gotten any notions thereof,” Aziraphale stated as matter-of-factly as he possibly could.

“Newt says that Crowley is here almost as often as you are,” Anathema said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“And it’s all perfectly innocent, now, isn’t it?” Aziraphale huffed. “It’s not as if we’re putting on a show in the booth.”

“Well,” Newt grinned.

“Oh, just because _you_ live to torment everyone doesn’t mean anything Crowley and I have done here is untoward or otherwise lascivious.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Have you _seen_ the way you eat around him?” Newt grinned. “Because I know _he_ has.”

“Don’t be preposterous,” Aziraphale scoffed.

Anathema smirked. “He really _does_ speak like that.”

“I told you,” Newt nodded with amusement. “It’s especially thick when he gets flustered like this.”

“Oh, how _delightful_. Yes, I certainly am entertaining. Ha ha-ha!” Aziraphale said sarcastically. “But other than the fact that you, _sir_ , are a _gossip_ and a _ninny_ , that still doesn’t explain what Shadwell has to do with any of this.”

“He’s been seeing Madame Tracy.”

“Who?” Aziraphale asked.

“Your neighbor.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale said, suddenly remembering the times he heard banging on the walls during a few of their more _successful_ experiments, and the repeated trials, in getting around Crowley’s limitations in the bedroom… And the kitchen… And the living room…

He recalled how easily he could hear the piano from the outside hallway when he came home to find Crowley playing. The size of Newt’s grin was directly proportional to the size of Aziraphale’s eyes as understanding blossomed into a rose-tint upon his cheeks. “Oh, uh, jolly good, yes. Rather,“ he said, making a mental note to hang more curtains along the walls to assist with soundproofing. He gathered up the tin and his bags as he headed towards the door to leave.

“Happy Christmas, Aziraphale,” Newt called after him.

Aziraphale poked his head back through the door. “Mind how you go.”

Aziraphale was eager to get home to Crowley. It was their first Christmas together, and he was determined to make it as special and wonderful as he possibly could. They were going to visit Michael and Uriel tomorrow for Christmas day, but tonight was just for the two of them.

Once they had eaten their dinner, they took turns, as they did most evenings, taking showers and dressing for bed.

Aziraphale looked up just in time to see what appeared to be laundry with legs walking down the hallway.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Aziraphale asked. “Did you leave any blankets on the bed?”

“M’ cold,” Crowley said, wrapping the blanket nest tighter around himself. He took his showers so hot that he was always chilled for at least a quarter hour after getting out. Most nights, he got into bed straightaway, but tonight, they wanted to spend time in front of the tree.

“Well, don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure it's because all you’ve got on is one of my shirts.”

“I’ve got on knickers, too,” Crowley pouted. “Besides, I thought you _liked_ it when I wore your shirts to bed.”

Aziraphale tapped a quick peck against Crowley’s lips. “I do. I wasn’t complaining.” Crowley had taken to wearing Aziraphale’s shirts to sleep in. It was one of the unspoken arrangements that quietly delighted them both. Aziraphale would lay a shirt out on the chair in the bedroom after wearing it for a bit, and Crowley would slip it on in the evening. The fact that he occasionally spritzed a tiny extra bit of his cologne on it before laying it out for Crowley to find probably wasn’t worth mentioning any more than it would be to point out that those were Crowley’s favorite days.

“They’re red, too,” Crowley said, opening a fold in his blanket cocoon to invite Aziraphale in. “Quite festive, really.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale questioned, snuggling up close to share his warmth.

“My knickers. They’re red. Christmassy.”

“You just like red.”

“It can be two things,” Crowley said playfully, settling back against Aziraphale’s chest, pulling his angels arms around him.

They sat together, cuddled up on the floor, listening to the music on the radio by the light of the tree they had decorated together.

Aziraphale, glancing at the time, made as if to stand up. “When was the last time you had something to drink?”

Crowley sighed with a fond smile. “You take such good care of me. I don’t know how I’d ever survive without you.”  
Aziraphale returned the smile with a pat on the knee. “I’ll fetch us something.” When he came back, he had two mugs of cocoa and a bottle of water. “It’s a bit too hot to drink just yet, but you go ahead and drink your water.”

“Yes, sir,” Crowley grinned, unscrewing the cap.

He settled back down in front of the tree next to Crowley, both sipping their cocoa as it cooled.

Empty mugs set off to the side, the two wrapped back inside of their little nest in the floor. Aziraphale sighed contentedly, gazing fondly at Crowley as a new song began to play.

Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes as he sang along with the radio.

_I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel_

_Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough_

They pressed their foreheads together as Crowley continued to sing along.

_Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life_

Crowley smiled as he took Aziraphale’s face between his hands.

_All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see_

_I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all_

Aziraphale reached up to brush the tear threatening to fall from Crowley’s eye.

_If I lay here_   
_If I just lay here_   
_Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

Neither could be sure who moved towards whom, but one thing was certain. Every bit that hadn’t been explicitly spoken was communicated between their lips in their kiss as the two lay beneath their Christmas tree, falling asleep in one another’s arms.


	10. Christmas Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of their first Christmas together

It was just past midnight when they woke up.

“Happy Christmas, Angel,” Crowley said, stretching out against him.

“Happy Christmas, my dear,” Aziraphale returned, squeezing him as he stretched.

“You know,” Crowley drawled as he traced a finger along Aziraphale’s nose, “It’s _technically_ Christmas morning now.”

“Are you saying you want your presents?” Aziraphale asked with a grin.

Crowley’s eyes went wide with delight. “Yes, I am.”

“Traditionally, we always had a good breakfast before we opened anything,” Aziraphale said, “But I think we can make an exception this time.” They both knew this was the first time in years that Crowley had someone to share Christmas morning with. There was no need to mention it or draw it out any longer than necessary.

Crowley reached for the tin Anathema had given to Aziraphale, pulling out a bis- _cookie_ to take a large bite out of it. He offered the rest to Aziraphale, who took it. “Sorted,” he spoke around the head of a gingerbread Santa as he chewed. He rubbed his hands together. “Right. Let’s get started, shall we?”

They pulled assorted small gifts out from under the tree to hand to one another, sending wrapping paper and ribbon everywhere. They took turns sticking bows on one another’s heads. Aziraphale marveled at the angel-wing mug in his hands while Crowley adjusted the soft leather bracelets on both of his wrists when they each realized they still had the most important gifts left for the other still beneath the tree.

Crowley handed his last gift to Aziraphale. He watched with a blend of hope and fear in his eyes as Aziraphale smiled at the paper.

“This wrap is adorable, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, tracing his fingers over the Pooh bear pattern. “Wherever did you find it?”

“It was a bit of a surprise to me as well. It was almost as if I thought about it, and then there it was in the shop.”

Aziraphale let out a small cry, covering his mouth with his hand as he opened the wrapping paper to see what was inside. “Oh, Crowley, how did you…?” His voice trailed off as he cautiously opened the cover.

“It’s not Winnie the Pooh. I couldn’t aff- afford a first edition of _that_ ,” Crowley babbled nervously, not able to look him in the eye. “I checked. I, I wanted to, though. I, I really did. Wanted to buy you that, that book, I mean. But I found this one, it’s the second book in the series, and it’s a first edition, first UK edition, anyway, whatever that means. But it’s still published in 1928. It’s not in the best condition, though, but—"

Aziraphale mercifully pulled him close and silenced the chatter with a kiss. “It’s perfect,” he whispered against Crowley’s lips. “It’s the most precious gift I’ve ever received.”

He flipped through the pages delicately for a few moments, glancing up at Crowley’s adoring face in between. He carefully wrapped the paper back around the book, protectively, and set it off to the side. There was one more gift to be given, after all.

He handed Crowley a box wrapped in shiny red paper with a satiny black bow. The man at the shop might have been a bit abrupt, but he certainly had style, Aziraphale thought.

Crowley’s eyes were as wide as his smile as he pulled the bow off, tying his hair up into a ponytail with it.

“How does it look?” Crowley asked, turning his head to the side.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale beamed.

Crowley finished removing the wrapping paper with the same care and reverence Aziraphale had shown to his own. He lifted the lid, revealing a mix of black and red tissue. He gasped as he moved the paper back to find a familiar brown box. He ran his fingers over the word _Paris_ on the right corner. He opened it to see a bright red cotton dust bag. Inside, he found a pair of black patent pumps with heels in perfect order.

He looked up at Aziraphale with tears in his eyes. “How? But these are so… I can’t, Angel. You can’t spend this kind of money on me.”

“I’m afraid I _couldn’t_ afford to replace them, but I _did_ find out that I could have the heel repaired. It was surprisingly quite reasonable.”

“You…” Crowley’s eyebrows pressed together as they rose on his forehead, inhaling a gasp as he fully realized what had happened. “You fixed my shoes,” he whispered. He covered his mouth with one of his hands and closed his eyes, sitting there almost imperceptibly shaking as he held the shoes to his chest with the other hand.

After a few minutes, Crowley carefully sat the box down beside them and lunged forward, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck while wrapping his arms around to hold him close. “Thank you,” he whispered just behind Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale, unable to do much else from this position, inhaled the scent of Crowley’s hair deeply before asking, “May I put them on you?”

Crowley leaned back and nodded silently, eyes wide with affection.

“Good. Now lie back and give me your foot, please.”

Concern clouded Crowley’s eyes. “Angel, I, I don’t—"

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “I know, my dear, I know,” he reassured him. “I won’t ever ask that of you. I know. You don’t have to worry. I wouldn’t, not if you didn’t want to. I would only ask for things you’ve given permission for before, and even then, there is no expectation that I receive them. I’ve told you this before, but I will continue to remind you, however many times you need to hear it.”

"Ngk," said Crowley.

“May I have your foot?”

Crowley relaxed. He leaned back on the rug and lifted a leg, tracing his foot up Aziraphale’s arm before placing it on his shoulder.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, sliding his cheek along the inside of Crowley’s ankle up to his knee. “May I?” He asked, his voice rasping slightly as he ran his hand up and down along the outside of Crowley’s leg.

“Yes,” Crowley replied, closing his eyes and trusting that his angel wouldn’t betray his limitation.

Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss just on the inside of his thigh before leaning back. Carefully and gently dragging his fingertips along the insides of Crowley’s legs from thigh to ankle, he slipped a shoe on each foot, placing them on either side of himself. 

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, laid so sweetly beneath the tree. He leaned forward to brush a kiss across his lips. “Don’t get me wrong,” he whispered, grinning as he nipped Crowley’s bottom lip. “I _absolutely adore_ the book, but _you’re_ the real gift. With your permission, I’d like very much to unwrap you now.”

Crowley lifted his head up slightly to catch Aziraphale in another kiss, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards the buttons of his shirt in answer.

Aziraphale unfastened the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, well, technically, it was his own shirt, but Crowley was in it. Aziraphale made a mental note to add that to the list of things he was thankful for in his prayers later. He smiled down as he undid the last button, running his hands along Crowley’s sides. When Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s shirt, he carefully pulled his hand away, lifting it to his lips instead. “No, this isn’t about me right now. This is for you. Is that all right?”

The flush across Crowley’s nose and cheeks had begun to spread down to his chest as he nodded affirmation. Aziraphale leaned forward once more to lay a trail of kisses along that same path, moving down his jaw, throat, chest, across his stomach, and down between his legs. Aziraphale nuzzled his cheek against the growing hardness beneath the simple red cotton panties as he slipped his fingers underneath the waistband to slide them down Crowley’s long legs.

Aziraphale had to pause for a moment to appreciate the splendor before him. There was something about Crowley laying spread out and ready across the rug, in high heels, with his panties wrapped around his ankles, lit only by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree that almost did Aziraphale in right there. He made an instinctively guttural noise as he sat back on his heels to fully appreciate the view.

It was then that inspiration struck. Pulling one foot free from the panties, Aziraphale pulled one of Crowley’s hands towards the shoe, carefully hooking a heel, pointed towards his fingertips, through the leather strap of his bracelets. “Is this all right?”

Crowley looked back and forth between Aziraphale and the makeshift restraint. He was _vulnerable_ in this position, but not _powerless_. He realized all he had to do was lift his foot or roll it to the side to unhook the heel from the bracelet and set himself free. Crowley retained complete control over his own actions, not even having to wait for an approval. He could give himself over if he chose to, or free himself at any time. His curiosity piqued, he nodded. By the time Aziraphale had hooked the other heel into the bracelet on his other wrist, Crowley was fully hard.

“Now, if at any time this is too much for you, all you need do is—”

“I know,” Crowley quickly breathed out in a whisper, looking up at Aziraphale. He was enthralled by the way the lights flickered against his hair, lighting up the soothingly familiar halo of platinum curls around his angel’s head.

Aziraphale placed his palms on top of Crowley’s upright knees, positioned as they were so that his feet were flat on the floor, heels causing his hips to raise slightly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered in awe. He scooted back just enough so that he could lie on his stomach and comfortably position himself between Crowley’s thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows, fully aware that his every move was being watched by wide, curious eyes. Starting from the base, Aziraphale spread feather-light brushes of lips all the way up to the tip, playfully flicking his tongue along the frenulum. He licked his lips and slipped the head into his mouth just as their eyes met.

Aziraphale could make a meal off of the sounds Crowley was making alone. He feasted upon them, each sharp intake of breath or pleased moan more delicious than the previous. He wanted more, more of the sounds, the sensations. As he continued to work Crowley over inside of his mouth, he reached up underneath to wrap the ends of Crowley’s shoulder-length ponytail between his fingers and pull, gently but firmly.

It was almost like flipping a switch. Crowley’s head tilted up, back arching as his hips began to buck. Fingers splayed out wide, his wrists pulled against his ankles, spreading his legs open a little wider. A growl rumbled in Aziraphale’s throat as he pulled his hair again. Crowley felt every vibration chase along through his cock to quake down his legs and started to buck even harder, fucking into his partner’s mouth.

Aziraphale didn’t realize his other hand was down his own pants until he felt the first few spurts of warmth over his fingers. Crowley cried out hoarsely at his own release, his hips thrashing more erratically without anything holding him down but Aziraphale’s mouth. One particularly harsh thrust into his throat later, and Aziraphale was tumbling over the edge, moan muffled by the cock in his mouth as he swallowed Crowley’s spend down and fucked his own increasingly wet fist through the wave.

Once Crowley’s body stopped shaking, Aziraphale carefully removed the heels from the bracelets, gently straightening out his legs and kissing the insides of his wrists as he tucked the bare limbs inside the warm blanket. He removed his own pajama bottoms and pants, wiping himself clean, and crawled up to lie next to Crowley. The two of them scooted closer together to watch the lights twinkling through the branches of the tree from beneath. Wrapping their arms around one another to snuggle under the blanket on the rug, Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s temple.

“The next time you touch those shoes,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s ear, “I want _tonight_ to be what you think about, and _nothing else_.”


	11. Christmas, Cards, and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day, and the ghosts of Christmas Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another bonus chapter. This one also got away from me a bit, considering I had originally planned for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day being a single chapter, but it's over 4500 words and there were over 5000 words between the previous two chapters where I had to split it up twice already.

They woke up for the second time on Christmas morning just after 9:00 am.

“Are we going to be late?” Crowley asked, stretching through a yawn. “Or do I have time to get pretty?”

“You woke up pretty, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a quick kiss before scrunching up his nose. “But you should still brush your teeth.”

Crowley rolled over and laughed. “Happy Christmas to you, too, Angel.”

“We don’t need to be there until noon,” Aziraphale said. “Though knowing Uriel, she’ll probably still be in the kitchen by the time we get there anyway, so there’s some wiggle room, I think.”

Sticking to their usual showering routine, Aziraphale got dressed in the bedroom after his shower while Crowley took his. He wore his usual khaki colored chinos, but chose to wear a festive green jumper over his button-down shirt. Aziraphale was still finger-curling his own hair in front of the full-length mirror when he heard the hair dryer from the bathroom.

“Ooh,” Aziraphale said, intrigued. Crowley only brought out the hair dryer when he had something special in mind. He usually preferred to air dry, saying something about heat damage and split ends.

“I suppose that means I have time to load the car,” Aziraphale said as he made his way towards the wrapped gifts stacked and waiting to be taken to Michael and Uriel.

Having just made it back into the bedroom when the bathroom door opened, Aziraphale stood still as Crowley stepped out. Most of his hair was pulled back into a bun with a bit underneath hanging down over his shoulders. There were several curls pinned up across both of his temples, with a few tendrils hanging down between. He was fresh-faced with doe-eyed black liner and mascara, and a simple shimmer of lip balm.

“You are stunning,” Aziraphale whispered as he sat down on the foot of the bed, transfixed.

Crowley grinned as he walked past towards the closet, selecting a tight pair of black jeans and an apple-red long-sleeved button-down shirt. He fished around in a drawer, retrieving an identical pair of red cotton panties that he had on from the night before along with a pair of nude thigh-high stockings. “Would you be an _angel_ , Angel, and fetch my shoes from the living room, please?”

Aziraphale couldn’t recall a time in his life that he had moved faster than he did just then. He didn’t want to miss a second of watching Crowley get dressed. It was funny how that worked. _You’d think I’d be less interested in what he put on than what he took off_ , he thought, _but here we are_. He sighed happily as he watched Crowley carefully slide the stockings up along his long, lean legs before slipping into his jeans. He tucked his shirt in, fastening a snake-patterned belt around his waist.

Grinning shyly at Aziraphale, Crowley stepped into his black-patent heels. “Are we ready now?”

“Almost,” Aziraphale said, stepping in close to carefully take Crowley’s face in his hands without mussing his hair. “There’s just one more thing we need to do before we go,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. “Thank you for brushing your teeth,” he said as he pulled back slightly.

Crowley huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his sunglasses off of the dresser.

“Oh, wait! There is another thing I almost forgot!” He pulled his phone out, scrolling back to the pictures he took of the Bentley. “I saw this when I went to get your shoes repaired.”

“That’s a 1926 Bentley. You… You saw a Bentley and you didn’t _immediately_ tell me?”

“I couldn’t! It would have ruined the surprise. But I took pictures for you.”

Crowley pursed his lips into a thoughtful pout. “I suppose I can forgive you, _this time_ ,” he said, pulling Aziraphale into an embrace. “Let’s go load the car.”

“I already took care of that when I heard the hairdryer. I figured I’d give you plenty of time to get ready.”

“You really are an angel,” Crowley smiled against his lips.

Upon hearing the door, Uriel leaned her head out of the kitchen to shout, “Is that the boyfriend in the dark glasses I’ve heard so much about?”

“It’s just me right now, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale replied, hanging up his coat on the stand by the door. “He and Michael decided to grab his portfolio, but they should be a few steps behind me. But I come bearing gifts!”

“Don’t think that’s going to get you special treatment over not bringing him to meet me sooner,” She lifted the whisk from the bowl in her hands to point it at Crowley as he walked through the door, her eyes still on Aziraphale. “He’s in trouble, too,” she said with a wink before turning to head back into the kitchen.

“What did _I_ do?” Crowley asked, confused as to why someone he had never before met had weaponized a whisk in his general direction.

“You’ve entered the realm of a family holiday,” Michael smirked. “And in the grand tradition, this is what we _do_.”

Uriel walked back in with wineglasses and a bottle. “Wine?” She offered as she began filling glasses.

Aziraphale held his hand up, “No, thank you, I—”

“Don’t stop on my account, Angel,” Crowley said. “I really don’t mind. And besides, it’s Christmas, and I’ve been _very_ good. I can have a _little_ wine, as a treat,” he smirked cattishly.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I suppose you have,” he conceded.

Crowley grinned cheekily and handed a full glass to Aziraphale. He then pointed to a spot roughly three centimeters from the bottom of an empty glass as Uriel continued to fill the rest.

“Your shoes are incredible,” Michael remarked, noticing the red-bottomed heels Crowley wore. “And they match your outfit so well.”

Crowley blushed a deep shade of near-aubergine. “Thank you. They were… _Part_ of my present.”

“What have you been doing that you could afford those?” Uriel asked Aziraphale. “You must _really_ like this one.”

“I do! But I didn’t buy new shoes,” Aziraphale assured. “I don’t have that sort of budget, I’m afraid. I merely repaired broken ones. I have the budget for _that_.”

Crowley scoffed. “ _Merely_ ,” he said mockingly. “You fixed my shoes, Angel. There’s nothing _mere_ about that. Not to me, there isn’t.”

The two were pulled from their competitively fond gazing towards one another when Michael clapped hands on both of their shoulders. “All right, lovebirds, there will be time for that later. We have gifts to open.”

In a blur of gift wrap, ribbons, and laughter, the group found themselves comparing an assortment of tastefully-selected items to ridiculous plastic toys.

The paper crown on Aziraphale’s head kept slipping slightly.

“Here, let me,” Crowley said, pulling a pin from his own hair, causing a curl to fall gently down over the tattoo on the side of his face, to secure the crown into Aziraphale’s hair.

“Thank you,” He smiled, bashfully glancing up, down, and back up at Crowley.

Michael watched the two of them momentarily before handing Aziraphale a flat box with a devilish grin.

“Is it time?” He asked, pulling out a similarly shaped box to hand to her.

“It is,” she replied.

They both tore into their respective packages with glee.

“Michael! Dude!” Aziraphale grinned, pulling a pristine white bath towel from the box.

Crowley leaned towards Uriel conspiratorially. “What’s happening?”

“They do this _every year_. I don’t know _why_ it’s so funny,” Uriel whispered back, offering Crowley a ridiculously sparkly tinsel-coated barbecue skewer.

“What fun,” he said before noticing the offered food. “I love barbecue,” he said, taking a bite before pointing the skewer stick at Aziraphale and Michael. “But they’re—” He was quickly cut off.

“Uriel, here, take our picture,” Michael said excitedly as she handed her phone over, holding up a blue towel with yellow ducks on it next to Aziraphale, holding up his own towel. The brother and sister smiled wickedly as the camera clicked. Michael took her phone back, tapping out a message. “Did you want me to send it to you, too?” She asked Aziraphale.

“Please do,” he replied, pulling his phone out.

Before she could send the picture to Aziraphale, she received a text. She let out a loud laugh, showing the phone to Aziraphale, who giggled and wiggled in his seat.

“What’s happening?” Crowley asked, dumbfounded.

“Apparently, we’re little shits,” Michael replied.

“Little shits who don’t deserve nice towels,” Aziraphale added with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Crowley, unable to articulate further, threw his hands out in the international sign of _what?_

Aziraphale and Michael looked at one another, still quietly laughing, before Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley again. “When we were kids, Mother used to get so angry about finding wet towels in the bathroom floor that she took away all the towels and each of us got one _single_ towel.”

“It wasn’t even a _nice_ towel,” Michael interjected. “Mine had a hole in the corner.”

“And they didn’t match. Anyway, we had to hang up our towel, on our own specific hook, when we were done drying off. While it was being washed and hung to dry, we simply had _no_ towel. We had to be extremely careful not to splash water out of the tub into the floor, too. We couldn’t have a spare towel for that. There was a bath rug, and that had to be enough.”

Michael spoke up. “If we ever asked about another towel, Mother would say, ‘Maybe if you’re good, you’ll get a new towel for Christmas.’ But we were never _new towel_ good.”

“So now, every year, we each get a new towel. We used to send a photo through the mail to Mother to show her our towels, but now we can just text her,” Aziraphale continued. “Which is how we have been made aware of our status as little shits who don’t deserve nice towels.”

Uriel scoffed. “How long have we been together that I’m just now finding this out? This has been driving me mad for years.”

“You never asked,” Michael replied, rolling up her towel and biting her lip, pretending to aim as if she were going to pop it.

“Give me that,” Uriel flinched, skittishly reaching out to grab the towel from Michael’s hand. “Your mother was right. You _are_ a little shit who doesn’t deserve a nice towel.”

More gifts were exchanged between the group, until finally, Uriel brought out a large paper bag with handles, passing it over to Michael.

“Mother asked that I give this to you,” Michael said to Aziraphale as she reached into the bag. She pulled out a box wrapped with gold paper and silver ribbons and handed it to Aziraphale with a wobbly smile.

He opened the box, pulling back the tissue paper to reveal a black hat and a striped scarf. “Oh, Michael…” Aziraphale’s voice was low and deep, his eyebrows raised in a blend of emotions that couldn’t be singled out enough to be named.

“She ran across those when I was helping her find some old photo albums in the attic,” Michael explained. “We both thought you should have them.”

“I haven’t seen these in decades,” he said, tracing his finger along the tiny golden honey bee pinned to the hat.

“Dad would have wanted you to have them, too, I think,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to squeeze gently.

“Oh, thank you, Michael,” he said, leaning into her hug. “And please be sure to pass along my thanks to Mother as well.”

“She misses you, Aziraphale.”

He smiled sadly, not looking up from the scarf in his hands. “I miss her, too,” he said quietly.

“She’d like to see you more often.”

Aziraphale looked up at Michael with plaintive eyes, sending a plea not to push any further. “You know I can’t do that,” he said with an uncomfortable smile.

“No,” she sighed dejectedly. “I suppose not.”

Crowley watched the two of them carefully, flicking his eyes questioningly over to Uriel, who shook her head slightly with a sad half-smile in answer.

“Would you mind putting them on so I could send her a picture?”

“I’d love to,” Aziraphale replied, misty-eyed.

Once the picture had been taken and the gifts lovingly put into a stack, the group moved to sit around the coffee table. Crowley and Aziraphale sat on the couch, Uriel sat in a chair on one end of the table next to Aziraphale, and Michael sat in the other chair opposite, next to Crowley. After a few hands of cards, Uriel and Aziraphale had grown frustrated.

“There’s a special circle of Hell for people who cheat at cards,” Uriel muttered disapprovingly at Michael.

“Oi! There’s two of you!” Crowley exclaimed, pointing between Aziraphale and Uriel.

Michael nodded with a faint smile. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Uriel, my dear. You’re benefiting from it just the same.”

“You’ve made me into an accomplice,” Uriel protested.

“Some role model you’ve turned out to be,” Aziraphale scoffed, looking Michael up and down.

“Aziraphale, it’s time to choose sides. I’ve chosen mine. I like to _win_ ,” Michael said, shuffling the cards skillfully without looking away.

“I think we should change partners for the next hand,” Crowley muttered as he watched Michael’s hands working the cards artfully.

Aziraphale’s head whipped towards him. “Crowley! How could you?”

“I like to win, too,” Crowley replied innocently.

“If you can’t win through skill, it isn’t a real victory,” Aziraphale said as Uriel nodded.

“If you aren’t willing to play to your strengths,” Michael said, coolly, “Why bother playing at all?”

“That’s it, we’re switching,” Crowley said. “I’m on Michael’s team now.”

“You what?” Aziraphale gasped.

Michael looked up, tilting her head to the side with her arms reaching out. “Yes, finally, someone who understands me!”

Crowley mirrored the gesture with a grin and a laugh before tilting his head back towards Aziraphale. “No offense, Angel. I love you, but I want to _win_.”

Aziraphale went silent.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked.

“You’ve never said…”

“I have so!” Crowley’s eyebrows were as high as his eyes and mouth were wide in a surprised smile.

“You have _not_. I should think I’d have remembered that,” Aziraphale pouted.

“Angel, since the night I met you, every single song I’ve sung has been for you.” He leaned towards Aziraphale, pressing their foreheads together. “And I know you feel the same. You don’t _have_ to say the words. I’ve heard them in everything you do for me.”

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley put his fingers to Aziraphale’s lips as he smiled back at him and sang.

 _Then you wouldn’t have to say_  
That you love me  
‘Cause I’d already know.

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley gently rubbed the tips of their noses together and sat back, both practically the physical manifestation of heart-eyes.

“You two are so sweet it hurts my teeth,” Uriel said with a smile. “Are you always this way?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, raising his upper lip in a playful mock-scowl. “He’s usually more of a bastard.”

“It’s cute how you _think_ that,” Aziraphale said coolly. “But you have _no_ idea.”

“Yes, yes, Aziraphale. We’re all quite aware of how _difficult_ you can be,” Michael teased. “You’re _such_ a handful.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised. “I beg your pardon?”

“Try living with the man,” Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I _have_ ,” Michael grinned, slapping her hand on the table.

Aziraphale gasped, looking between his sister and his partner, then over at Uriel. Had he the pearls to clutch, he would have done so.

“You have one of those, too, I see,” Uriel said, nodding sagely.

Aziraphale pursed his lips slightly. “It would appear that I do,” he said, standing up and offering his arm to Uriel as she stood to join him.

“One of what?” Crowley and Michael said simultaneously.

“A red-head,” Uriel said, arching an eyebrow and taking Aziraphale’s arm while he grinned smugly in return. The two went into the kitchen to sit down at the table and chat, leaving Crowley and Michael in the living room to do the same.

“Now that we have a moment to ourselves,” Michael stood up, moving towards the coffee pot on the sideboard. “I wonder if I might speak with you about something.”

Crowley nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

“I have to admit, when I first heard about you, how you two met, and, well, _everything_ , I had my reservations,” Michael said as she sat back down and passed a fresh cup of coffee over to him.

Crowley looked down at the floor. He knew he wasn’t worth particularly much, but Aziraphale made him forget that most of the time. It wasn’t a nice thought, remembering who he had been, who he still _was_ , really, but he supposed he needed the reality check regardless.

“Aziraphale hasn’t exactly had the best taste in partners in the past,” Michael explained.

“Some things never change,” Crowley said, his face down-turned.

“And sometimes they _do_ ,” Michael said quietly, taking his hand. “He’s a different person now. He’s happier than I’ve seen him since we were kids,” she said. “That,” she nodded her head towards where Aziraphale and Uriel were laughing in the kitchen, “Is more the person I grew up with than the one I’ve known for the last 25 years.” She smiled warmly at Crowley. “That’s obviously your doing.”

Crowley preened at her words in spite of himself. It felt good, really good, to hear Aziraphale’s sister say something like that to him. She knew Aziraphale better than anyone, save maybe Crowley himself. That _meant_ something, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, Crowley thought, if he could warm an angel’s heart, he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Things were so different when we were kids. I _knew_ , I think, about _him_ , that is, before _he_ did. I recognized bits of me in him.” She looked back towards Aziraphale, smiling. “I was still figuring things out, myself, back then.” She looked up with a crooked smile and a laugh. “I actually thought it was my fault once, like I had taught him to be—”

“That’s not something you _learn_. That’s something you _are_ ,” Crowley interrupted.

“Of course. I know that now. But back then, when we were so much younger, it was… Didn’t you have to figure it out as a kid, too? Or were you older when you knew? Do you remember?”

“Oh, I didn’t have any sort of breakthrough like that, growing up, I mean. I’m pretty sure I fell out of the sky flaming like anything,” he grinned at her. “Some of my earliest memories were prancing around in my mum’s heels and pearls, talking about the man I’d marry someday.”

“Is that something you want?”

Crowley looked to the kitchen to watch Aziraphale taking a sip from his glass, laughing at whatever it was Uriel just said to him. His eyes flicked to meet Crowley’s own, sharing a shy smile between themselves before going back to their respective conversations. “Whatever he wants, he’ll have it. I’d marry him right here, right now if he asked.” Crowley sighed, resting his chin on his hand with a cheeky grin. “Fetch him his slippers and a drink in something frilly at the end of the day. Be a happy little house husband.”

Michael watched as Uriel regaled Aziraphale with the sort of tale that required both of her hands to gesture on about. She looked down at her own hand, rubbing her fingers along the bare left ring finger. “Would it bother you, do you think?”

“What’s that?” Crowley asked, noticing Michael’s hands as she watched Uriel.

“If… If you never got that, the husband… That sort of thing. Would you still be happy?”

“Is this about me, or about…” He nodded towards Uriel.

“Both, really. I mean, I… It’s complicated. I know I’m lucky, given the situation as it is. Uriel understands. I believe her when she tells me so. But a lot of the people Aziraphale has been with in the past, they didn’t handle the secrecy very well. And in that, I suppose I can’t realistically fault them. It isn’t fair to ask someone to hide who they are. But neither is it to expect someone to out themselves when they aren’t prepared to do so.”

“I know the situation. I know that _this_ ,” Crowley gestured between the two of them, “Is as much of his family as I’ll get to meet. I know about Gabe, too, about how he thinks. And I know it isn’t just about protecting _himself_ , but it’s _you_ , too, that Aziraphale’s protecting by keeping things the way they are.”

“He wasn’t always this way,” Michael said, her face clouding with memories of the past. “Everything changed, back then, though I’m sure you’re familiar with how that can be.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

When Michael noticed the look of confusion on Crowley’s face, she stopped herself. It had been 25 years since Aziraphale had been attacked, and at least 20 since they had discussed it last. If Aziraphale hadn’t told Crowley about that, it certainly wasn’t _her_ place to. Not when things seemed to be going so well between them otherwise.

She smiled as she quickly came up with a way to cover her snafu. “The world hasn’t always been as accepting of people like us in the past, not as they are now.” It was perfectly true, and perfectly vague.

Crowley, accepting this, nodded in agreement. “It’s still quite a bit of an ordeal at times, but yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“His relationships, they rarely make it past the first Christmas, and never make it to the second. He still… He struggles with that, being visible. Old habits, as they say.” She looked towards Aziraphale in the kitchen once more and sighed. “He accepts himself, I think. He _knows_ there’s nothing wrong about who he is. But I think he’s terrified that _others_ don’t see it that way. Not so much strangers, though he still hides around them.”

“Just like his books,” Crowley said absentmindedly, thinking about the stories collected in a shelf of hand-written books back home.

“His what?”

“Oh, nothing. Just some of his rare books that he won’t let anyone touch, you know how he likes his first editions,” Crowley covered, remembering suddenly that no one else, not even Michael, knew he wrote.

“Oh, of course,” she nodded before shooting a quick glance towards the kitchen. Michael leaned over to Crowley to whisper, “I think Mother suspects, but she won’t say anything. It’s so frustrating, taking messages between the two of them, save for a visit once or twice every other year when they’re in the UK instead of the states. Aziraphale would rather she think him cold than to risk her disgust at who he is. I don’t think she’d do that, but she and I don’t talk about that sort of thing anymore.”

Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in question.

“Oh, she knows about _me_ , or at least, she did. I told her, once, long ago. This was back when Dad was still alive, before she remarried and we ended up with our _step-brother-fucking_ - _Gabriel_.” Michael sighed. “Mother keeps her mouth closed when Gabe goes off on rants about the _rampant homosexuality_ nowadays,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “Aziraphale avoids him at all costs. And I don’t say anything, because I don’t want Gabe to know anything about _me_ , either. As far as he’s concerned, Uriel is my roommate and best friend. And that’s mostly true, anyway. She really _is_ my best friend,” Michael said, gazing fondly towards the kitchen, catching Uriel’s eye with a wink before turning back to Crowley. “But since Gabe took over the field work side of the business for his father, who works out of his home office, Gabe is constantly around their house. It’s almost as if he pops up out of nowhere. Mother and I just don’t talk about it so as not to be overheard. I know that she didn’t _choose_ that, of course. She married _his father_ , not him. I can understand her desire to keep the peace.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you keep telling yourself?” 

“As I said, it’s complicated.” Michael smiled a strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Though it’s not the first time I’ve heard something similar from someone Aziraphale has tried to have a relationship with, usually not long before they left him for it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not unless he tells me to. And even then, I’ll probably be dramatic about it in the hopes that he changes his mind. Until then, I’ll be as loud or as quiet as he needs. Got no reason to question it.”

Michael eyes seemed to bore through to Crowley’s very core for a brief moment. “You really _do_ love him, don’t you?” It was more of a hope than a question or a statement.

“If the world were to end tomorrow, I’d rush through the fires of Hell just to stand and face Doomsday at his side.”

It had begun to grow dark out when Crowley and Aziraphale loaded up the car. They hugged and said their goodbyes to Michael and Uriel, promising, and meaning it, to get together again soon. Once they were both in the car, buckled into their safety belts, Crowley turned the key in the ignition. “I really enjoyed meeting your family,” Crowley said, smiling as he adjusted the knobs on the radio.

Aziraphale grew quiet.

Something felt off about that, Crowley thought. “Did you need to make any stops on the way back?”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale answered in a small voice and an even smaller partial smile.

“You sure?” Crowley faced him with a pout. “I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it and just shook his head, turning to look out the window instead.

“Right,” Crowley said to himself as he pulled the car onto the road.

Crowley couldn’t help but notice the shift in Aziraphale’s behavior. He seemed worried about something, and after the conversation with Michael, Crowley had some semblance of an idea what it might have been.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale’s hum was soft in his reply. “Hmm?”

“Uh… It… It goes without saying, but I think maybe you need to hear it anyway.” Crowley kept his eyes on the road, but reached his hand out to find Aziraphale’s, linking their fingers together. “If you _asked_ me, I’d say yes. But even if you _never ever_ did, all of this, all of _you_ ," Crowley squeezed his hand, "Would still be more than enough.”

There was a pause. “I’d have _already_ asked you if I thought I _could_ ,” Aziraphale replied quietly.

They continued the drive home in silence, taking the long way around to view the holiday lights. Aziraphale turned to face the window, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of the decorations. He couldn’t see them anyway, not through the tears he was trying to hide.

Crowley knew what was happening, regardless of how well Aziraphale tried to conceal it. It broke his heart. He couldn’t fathom it. How could anyone who had ever met this man, this _absolutely wonderful bastard of an_ _angel_ , not love him with everything they had? It didn’t bear thinking about.

They were almost to the flat when Crowley spoke again.

“Hey, Angel?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes and sniffed. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

Aziraphale took in a shuddering breath, followed by a wet, but relieved, laugh. “I love you, too.”


	12. Words Are Always Getting In My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you handle a love so deep it's frightening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fret too much. We're still in the good times for now, but Oblivious Idiots Are Oblivious.
> 
> The music in today's chapter is [Leighton Meester - That’s All I’ve Got To Say ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Utt2wLMbz0k)

Crowley couldn’t help but think about the things Michael had said. It was difficult not to when Aziraphale was acting so different. It wasn’t a drastic difference, really, but it was change enough that Crowley took notice.

They had been having such a nice time of it before they got into the car. Crowley wasn’t sure what he had done, but he must have done _something_. At first, he thought it had to do with him mentioning meeting Aziraphale’s family. But he thought he had taken care of that with what was said in the car.

Crowley had never been one for words. He preferred actions, gestures, efforts with substance and meaning. Words were only useful when there were actions to back them up. A person could _say_ practically anything. Whether or not it was true, it would sound the same. But doing something, that was different. That was solid. It was a lot harder to be insincere, though not impossible, with an action.

Music was an emotion and a motive behind a string of words. It was how he bridged the gap between words and actions. Crowley had been pouring his heart and soul out into the universe from the moment he played his very first note. More specifically, he had been sending messages to Aziraphale since first picking up his guitar after leaving the hospital.

Aziraphale liked words. He collected them, bound in leather and canvas and cardstock. Words meant something to him. At first, Crowley supposed that might have owed, at least in part, to the fundamental belief that people were _good_. Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Aziraphale believed in words because if he believed it were true, it would be, purely because he needed it to be.

Crowley had used words for Aziraphale that night, in the car. He took the words rattling around between his heart and his head and presented them to Aziraphale. He wanted his angel to have them, to have no reason to question anything at all. This was generally implied in his every action towards Aziraphale, but if his angel needed to _hear_ it, it needed to be said.

When he said the words, Aziraphale had appeared to be pleased by them. He was almost back to his old self by the time they walked through the door in the home they shared. Only that wasn’t his old self, according to Michael. Well, it was, but it wasn’t. It was confusing. It seemed that Crowley had only ever known the version of Aziraphale that he used to be long ago, the one without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Crowley wondered what had changed him so much, back then, but didn’t feel comfortable asking. If Aziraphale had wanted him to know, he would have told him. But if this shift in behavior was any indication that he was falling back into old patterns, those unfamiliar to Crowley, it made him nervous.

Aziraphale was _everything_ to Crowley. Michael said his relationships rarely made it past the first Christmas, and never to the second. What if this was how it started? Crowley had no idea. He was reasonably sure Michael hadn’t _meant_ to get inside of his head like this, had she? She had complimented him, and encouraged him. She said he made Aziraphale happy. And, up until now, Crowley mostly believed that. _He_ was happy, anyway. Was he just not seeing unhappiness in Aziraphale before because he was too distracted by his own joy?

Crowley watched as Aziraphale sighed. _Well, there it is_ , Crowley thought. _He’s probably realizing what he’s gotten himself into with someone like me._

Looking from the outside in, Aziraphale was pleasant, but indecisive and fidgety. To look through his eyes, however, told a different story. He was still fidgety, of course, that was a given, but there was a level of certain uncertainty that pointed him in his direction. It might not be the _right_ decision, but once he made it, he was sure as anything going to see it through all the way to the scene of the crash.

Crowley wasn’t very different. Neither of them truly realized just how matched a pair they were, in the best _and_ worst ways. Both madly in love with one another, yet wildly oblivious, and stubborn to a fault.

Aziraphale had been worried about Crowley. He had been acting nervous ever since they left Michael and Uriel’s place Christmas night. Was Crowley finally going to realize he needed more than Aziraphale could give him? How much longer did he have, he wondered? _No, stop it. It hasn’t even happened._

_Yet._

_No. Crowley isn’t like the others. He’s not. But he does deserve **more** than I’ve given him_, Aziraphale thought. _It’s only a matter of time before he realizes it._

Aziraphale sighed wistfully. Why couldn’t love be enough? Why did things have to be so difficult? Why did he have to keep everything beautiful, bright, and good in his world hidden away?

He _knew_ why.

He _hated_ why. Hate was a strong word, but Aziraphale understood that. Words were his landscape, his domain. He knew how powerful they could truly be, depending upon how they were arranged and applied, and he knew that his feelings were true. Hate fractured the heart and soul of a person, whether or not it was irrational or just. Aziraphale had been living with this fracture for decades. It had been the strongest force in his life for so long, at least until recently.

He hated _why_ almost as much as he loved Crowley.

__

“Would It bother you if we stayed in for New Year’s Eve?” Crowley asked as he sat down cross-legged in the floor at Aziraphale’s feet to pull his guitar out of the case to practice.

“But I thought you might have liked going out,” Aziraphale said, surprised. Crowley usually loved any excuse to get all dressed up.

“If you _wanted_ to, I’d go. But really, all I need is you, and perhaps a sip of champagne from your glass,” he said, leaning back against Aziraphale’s legs from his seat on the floor in front of Aziraphale’s chair. Crowley was determined to prove to Aziraphale that he didn’t need to go and do, or be seen, or anything else. He just wanted to _be_ _with_ him, together, no matter where they were. “Or you could drink the champagne, and I could taste it on your lips,” He grinned up as Aziraphale leaned down to brush their lips together briefly. His eyes were closed even as Aziraphale sat back up. “S’nice,” he smiled, leaning his head over on Aziraphale’s knee.

“Scoot up a bit,” Aziraphale said, moving to sit down behind Crowley in the floor. Aziraphale was determined to show Crowley how important he was to him, that he wasn’t ashamed of Crowley or what they were to one another. But if Crowley didn’t want to let Aziraphale take him out and show him off to ring in the new year, then Aziraphale would figure out another way to make him feel happy and secure. He lowered himself down behind Crowley, cradling him within his arms as Crowley began to softly strum his guitar and sing.

_I've had time to write a book about  
The way you act and look  
But I haven't got a paragraph  
Words are always getting in my way  
Anyway, I love you  
That's all I have to tell you  
That's All I've Got To Say_

Crowley poured every last measure of devotion he had into the quiet, fading sunlight that cast about the two of them as he played.

_And now, I'd like to make a speech  
About the love that touches me  
But stumbling, I would make you laugh  
I feel as though my tongue were made of clay  
Anyway, I love you  
That's all I have to tell you_

Aziraphale kissed the top of Crowley’s head as he continued to play while wrapped in his arms. He could listen to Crowley’s music forever, and he would, if he were allowed that privilege, and if it didn’t also mean fewer kisses while that lovely mouth of his was singing. He held him tighter, hoping that would suffice in the meantime. It had to be enough. _Please, let it be enough,_ Aziraphale thought.

_And I tried to write a symphony  
But I lost the melody  
Alas I only finished half  
And finish I suppose I never may_

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, smiling as he sang.

_Anyway, I love you  
That's all I have to tell you  
That's all I've got to say_

“I’m so lucky to have a wonderful white rabbit such as you, white rabbit, white rabbit.” Crowley smiled against Aziraphale’s lips as they listened to the clock strike twelve. They sat together beneath the blankets on the couch, watching the fireworks outside through the window as they sipped champagne and shared kisses into the night.

As the night continued and Aziraphale stilled beside him, Crowley’s mind grew restless. He wanted this, _needed_ this, and he was desperate to keep it. He wouldn’t say he couldn’t remember what life was like before Aziraphale, but he knew it wasn’t something he wanted to experience ever again.

He had to _do_ something.

He had an idea.

 _It’s okay. It’s Aziraphale_ , Crowley thought. Aziraphale wouldn’t hurt him, not intentionally. It would be okay when it _did_ hurt, wouldn’t it? It would be fine, because it was _Aziraphale_. And maybe when it hurt, it wouldn’t be so bad. It was Aziraphale, and Aziraphale loved him.

It was _Aziraphale_ , he reminded himself over and over again.

Aziraphale _loved_ him.

 _New year, new me_ , he thought. He could _do_ this. He _would_ do this. He would do _anything_ for his angel.

 _Easy job. It should be, anyway. Sex with the love of your life,_ Crowley thought _. People do this sort of thing all the time. Nice, straightforward job, eh? Not the kind of thing any idiot is going to screw up, right? He loves me,_ Crowley thought. _He deserves better than me. He deserves more than I’ve given him. I have to do this. I have to fix it. I have to._

_I can’t lose him._

_New year, new me._

He took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through his nose.

Aziraphale wouldn’t throw him away when he was done, not after everything else they had already been through together, right? Aziraphale would get what he wanted, and Crowley would get to stay with the angel that breathed life and love back into his little black heart. They’d be happy, right?

Crowley could put himself through that. He could pay that price.

He _would_.

Aziraphale was _worth_ it. He was _worth_ the pain.

_New year, new me. New year, new me. Stop procrastinating and just fucking **do** it already. New year, new me. Oh, for fuck’s sake, say something else. **Anything** else._

“Aziraphale, are you awake?” Crowley traced his fingers along Aziraphale’s arm.

He wasn’t, but it was close enough that he answered anyway. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed without opening his eyes.

 _It’s now or never,_ Crowley thought. _Maybe. Just get it over with._

“Fuck me, Angel.” The voice was soft and timid in the darkness.

Aziraphale, still sleep-drunk and groggy, hadn’t quite processed the words. “Hmm?”

Crowley pressed closer, the dim moonlight from the window casting a glint against his eyes. “Angel, I want you to fuck me. Can you?”

Gradually becoming more aware of what was being asked of him, Aziraphale growled softly in the back of his throat and leaned forward, nipping softly at the neck exposed before him. “Are you sure?”

“Can… Can you fuck me sweetly? Can you be tender?” Crowley whispered as he wrapped himself around his partner, gasping as Aziraphale slowly but firmly mouthed a path up his throat and along his jaw towards his mouth. “Fuck me with kindness…”

“No,” he whispered between the lips pressing to his own. “But if you’ll allow me, I would like nothing more than to make love with you.”

“What’s the difference?” Crowley’s voice was gentle and soft.

“If you have to ask, you deserve to be shown,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear as he stood up from the couch, sweeping Crowley up into his arms to carry him to the bedroom.

Gently, Aziraphale laid Crowley down on top of the sheets. He moved to position himself between his legs, leaning down to tenderly part lips with gentle tongue. Aziraphale pulled back once more. “I want to make sure you’re certain about this. You don’t have to do anything at all. You know that, don’t you? Is this what you want?”

Crowley nodded as he reached for Aziraphale’s shirt, pulling it over his head. They undressed one another gently, taking their time.

Aziraphale tenderly placed a palm against Crowley’s cheek. “Crowley, I—” He stopped mid-sentence as he took in the sight below him.

Crowley’s eyes were shut tight, his face contorted into a grimace as he pulled his legs up. “I… I’m ready. You can get started. Unless you want me on my knees or my stomach instead. I just need…” He took a deep breath. “Need to get this part over with, then you can do whatever you want to me,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “Let’s get this over with.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, pulling back somewhat.

“No, I _want_ to get it over with, obviously,” Crowley said with a grimace.

“Get _what_ over with?” Aziraphale was extremely confused about what was happening.

“The first part. Hurts for a bit, but it’s okay. I trust you. I’m ready.”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in concern. “But you haven’t been prepared yet.”

“I’m _prepared_. I’m ready,” Crowley argued. “I _want_ to do this for you. I can handle it. I know I can. I’ll be good and quiet.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice Crowley was trembling underneath him. “No. You… You’re _afraid_ ,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably as understanding washed over him. “Has no one ever… Is this how you think it’s _supposed_ to be? That it’s _supposed_ to _hurt_?”

“If… if you don’t want—”

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I want. I _want_ ,” he said, leaning forward to kiss him deeply, slowly, and reassuringly. He leaned back just enough to break the kiss. “You said you trust me,” he murmured as he nuzzled against Crowley’s jaw.

“Yes,” Crowley spoke in a breathy reply, tentatively leaning his head back to expose more of his neck to the warm lips and gentle teeth of his partner.

“Then trust that I’m _not_ going to hurt you, and that I will treat you, and your body, gently, and with respect.” Aziraphale reached into the drawer of the bedside table to retrieve a tube. Once his fingers were slick, he showed them to Crowley. “I’m about to prepare you. You shouldn’t feel any pain from this, but if you do, I want you to tell me right away. All right? And not just pain, but _any_ sort of discomfort. We’ll stop, straightaway.”

Crowley nodded. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale reached carefully between his partner’s legs. Crowley gasped and arched his back slightly as a fingertip began to rub gently at his entrance, massaging, but not yet breaching. “What is this?”

“Do you want me to stop? Say the word and I’ll stop and we can do whatever else you like.”

“No, I just… What are you doing?”

“Something that should have been done for you a long time ago.”

Aziraphale reverently and adoringly worked him open. He took his time, moving with a sacred precision, explaining as he went along. Aziraphale savored every movement and sound his lover made while he remained unwilling to risk causing Crowley even the slightest pain or discomfort. His driving thought was a painstakingly urgent need to make up for the sins of those who came before him to kneel at the altar of such a perfectly imperfect creature.

Once Aziraphale was certain he had stretched him enough to be comfortable, he repositioned himself above Crowley, spreading a bit more lubrication than might have been strictly necessary along his hardened cock, just to be safe.

“Relax,” he whispered. “I’m about to press in. But if at any time it hurts at all, you tell me. Will you do that for me?”

Crowley nodded, looking up at him, pupils blown oval with desire.

Carefully, Aziraphale rubbed the head of his cock gently around Crowley’s entrance, distributing lubrication as he slowly crept forward. He wanted to take no chances that Crowley would clench up, hopefully no chance for pain.

Crowley gasped, his eyes opened wide with surprise.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, Angel,” he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Feels good.”

“Good. I’m about to move again, and I’m going to keep going slow. I don’t want you to feel any pain. Only pleasure.” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s face cautiously for any sign of discomfort as he continued to sink in. “Still good?”

Crowley nodded, pale golden eyes opening to look up cattishly with adoration as he clung tightly to the arms bracketing him from above.

“I’m going to stay here for a bit,” Aziraphale said, tracing his nose up along a sharp cheek bone and down the side of Crowley’s nose, “To give you time to adjust before I move inside of you.” He whispered against the warm, wanting mouth beneath his own. “All right?”

“Yes,” a ragged voice responded before slender fingers spread out through downy blonde curls, pulling down to bring their lips together.

After what felt like the most delightful eternity, Aziraphale built up a gentle rhythm like ocean waves lapping against the shore, ebbing and flowing, pushing forward and pulling back. Each crash of hips made to smooth out the rough marks that had dug ruts and divots into the sands of Crowley’s past.

The thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears beat out a name, Crowley. _Crowley, Crowley, Crowley_ , his heart shouted, or it might have been his own voice, he couldn’t be certain. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the comfort and love he wanted to fill Crowley with. This was a sacred space he had been granted entry into, being fully joined together after everything else. Aziraphale might not have known every story about those who had defiled this temple in the past, but he knew it was his hallowed duty to help him heal. Crowley called him his angel, after all. That was his job, and he lived to serve.

Every sound, every flex of muscle beneath him and around him, was a symphony of the senses. Their movements flowed like the notes on a musical scale, building towards a crescendo as the two pressed closer together in a harmony, the desire to fill and be filled with one another intensifying with each movement.

“Are you still all right?” Aziraphale asked, gripping behind Crowley’s knee to pull his leg up on his waist.

“Y-yeah, uh…” Crowley was having trouble forming his words. He closed his eyes to shut out some of the external stimulation so he could concentrate enough to speak more coherently. “Don’t… don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Aziraphale shifted just enough to lift Crowley’s hips a little higher, giving him a better angle to thrust against. Crowley bit his bottom lip, breathing harshly through his nose. Recognizing that Crowley was getting close, Aziraphale tried to reach between them to help him along. Crowley grabbed his hand instead, linking their fingers as his back arched, pressing his chest up against Aziraphale as he half-yelled out an incoherent string of syllables that might have resembled some mixed-up combination of _Aziraphale_ and _Angel_ and _fuck_.

Aziraphale felt the delicious tightening around himself, along with the warmth spreading beneath him, as Crowley came practically untouched other than the friction between them. A low, throaty growl pushed its way up from deep within his chest as he fought to control himself so as not to thrust too hard.

He tightened his arms as they closed in on either side of Crowley, reaching to place his hands on either side of Crowley’s face as he leaned down to bring their mouths together. Crowley parted his lips to welcome Aziraphale’s tongue as it licked into his mouth to match his thrusts.

Aziraphale wouldn’t last much longer like this. Crowley dragged his fingertips all the way along Aziraphale’s back from the dimples at his hips to tightly fist through the hair on either side of his head.

Aziraphale pressed firmly into Crowley as his release overtook him. He held to Crowley tightly as his hips bucked erratically, his attention split between watching Crowley’s face for reaction and riding out his own wave of bliss.

Crowley’s heart was beating so fast, too fast, as Aziraphale finished inside of him. _This is it_ , he thought. _This is the moment. This is when it all goes to shit and they’re done with me._ Aziraphale pulled out of him to lie next to Crowley. Almost to his surprise, warm, loving arms snaked around Crowley to draw him closer to his chest.

_He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me **at all** , not when it started, and not now. Does he still love me?_

Crowley’s post-coital revelation left him overwhelmed. He began to quietly cry within Aziraphale’s embrace.

Aziraphale held him, kissing away the tears on his cheeks. “Are you all right? What’s the matter, my darling?” _Oh, God, what have I done to him? I shouldn’t have done this._ Aziraphale tried his best not to let the panic seep into his voice.

Crowley lay limp and shaking in Aziraphale’s arms. “I didn’t…” He swallowed thickly. “I didn’t know it could _be_ like this,” he said in a broken whisper. “I didn’t know it could feel _good_ … For me. It was only ever pain, before. It always hurt so much when…” He turned and buried his face against Aziraphale’s chest, his words muffled and lost as strong arms wrapped around slender shoulders to hold him tightly.

It nearly broke Aziraphale’s heart that Crowley had been willing to put himself through something that had only ever been a painful, traumatic experience just to please him. “Then why did you ask me?” He asked, pressing a kiss against the top of Crowley’s silky hair. “You didn’t have to do that. I’ve been more than satisfied with everything we’ve already done together. You don’t _owe_ me anything, my dear.”

Crowley deserved so much better than to be treated the way he had been. He wasn’t just some dirty little secret to be used and abused. But wasn’t that what Aziraphale was doing, essentially? He might not have been rough and unkind, but he _was_ keeping him a secret. Crowley said he didn’t mind, but was he simply saying that to appease Aziraphale? Fear crept in as Aziraphale realized how utterly wrong this all could have gone. What would have happened if he _had_ been wrong about what Crowley needed? What if he still _was_ wrong?

Crowley’s voice was fragile and small in the darkness as it interrupted the runaway train that was Aziraphale’s thoughts.

“It was the only part of me left that wasn’t already yours. I wanted you to have it, to have all of me.”

The two clung to one another, both waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	13. You Matter To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words, actions, and what matters most across Heaven and Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The musical the group goes to see in this chapter is The Waitress. Sara Bareilles will be performing at the Adelphi Theater in London from Jan 27 to March 7 of 2020. (This snuck up on me and literally fell into my lap while I was trying to figure out how to get Aziraphale to see this musical. And because tonight is opening night for her, please enjoy this Bonus Chapter featuring music from the production.)
> 
> [Used To Be Mine, as performed on the Graham Norton Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3W2vxpr0dQM)
> 
> [You Matter To Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxeUwUSrdxU)

“This is not as sexy as the movies make it out to be,” Crowley said, compressed and folded as he was in front of Aziraphale.

“It’s really not, is it… I think it has to do with the size.” Aziraphale’s feet hung out over the edges by his knees on either side of Crowley to make room.

“Right, that must be it. So now what?”

“I have no idea. This is new territory for me.”

“For you? Citroen’s don’t generally come with bathtubs as original factory equipment, Angel,” Crowley snapped, though there wasn’t any heat to it. “What possessed you to think of this?” Crowley knew he had no room to ask, or to do anything else at the moment, since he had agreed to it. But he was smushed, cramped, and frustrated. Crowley was nearly two meters tall, and Aziraphale was only a handful of centimeters shorter. Yet here they were, roughly four meters of arseholes with knees and elbows folded up and sharing a space just over a meter wide with nary a thimble of water left between them.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, the _only_ thing he had room to roll, before reminiscing about their moonlit swim months ago. So many new experiences that night, in getting to know one another. There was still so much they hadn’t done. He wanted another new thing they could do together.

“Are you all right back there? You’ve gone quiet. If it weren’t for the fact that I think we’re both wedged in here to the point of being quite possibly stuck, I might’ve wondered if you’d gone.”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about how nice it was that night we went swimming in the pond. Much bigger than this bathtub. Might be nice to try something like that again.”

“Bit cold for that this time of year, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but I was thinking perhaps we might have some better luck at a hotel.”

Crowley, knees to his chest and feet firmly flat on either side of the tap, tried to turn around to face Aziraphale in the tiny bathtub. It didn’t quite work, but an attempt was made. “You want to go to a hotel just to sit in a tub?”

“Well, actually, I was thinking, perhaps we might…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as he rubbed circles along Crowley’s shoulders and arms pondering a possibility.

“We can do _that_ at home for free,” Crowley said, tensing up. “And there’s plenty of other places we could go that wouldn’t charge by the hour or the night.” Crowley did _not_ like being broke. He had already gone through most of what he had been saving just over Christmas, which was _fine_ and he did _not_ regret spending a single penny on Aziraphale, but it was still money he no longer had for an emergency. And with Valentine’s day coming up, he wasn’t trying to blow what little he had begun to accumulate again on just _anything_. He had something specific in mind he needed to pay for, after all.

Aziraphale stilled his hands. “Oh, no, my dear, no. I know. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean _that_. I meant, perhaps, that we might take a trip somewhere.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, relaxing. “That might be nice, actually.” It might be especially nice if it happened to be part of a Valentine’s day gift, he thought. That might be just the idea he was looking for.

“Well, we’re already _here_. We might as well try to make the most of this,” Aziraphale said, trying to salvage the situation. “Do you think you might be able to turn around a bit?” Aziraphale asked.

“Angel,” Crowley said, leaning his head back the two inches he had room for, “If I _could_ turn around, I’d become biblically acquainted with the tap, and I just don’t think I’m ready to introduce that level of intimacy into my relationship with the plumbing.”

  
Crowley walked into the flat, carrying in the post with him. “Have you heard from your friend in Nigeria lately?” Crowley asked, sorting the stack between his hands.

Aziraphale glared at him. “I told you, he seemed sincere enough, but I didn’t _actually_ send him any money.”

Crowley smirked, placing the larger of the two stacks of envelopes next to Aziraphale at his desk. Crowley sat down on the couch to open his own.

“Ha!” Crowley exclaimed, plucking a card off of the letter in his hand. “My bank has taken it upon themselves to replace my expiring debit card, and offered me the opportunity to open up another account. As if I wanted to walk up to the teller and go, ‘Right, _this_ stack of coins goes into _this_ account, but I want this five-pound note to go into the _other_.’ The right morons,” he said, carefully covering all but four digits on the card at a time to punch information into his phone to activate the card online. He didn’t notice when a slightly creased photo fell out as he opened his wallet to swap out the cards.

Aziraphale got up from his desk to pick it up, glancing at it before handing it back to him. The two locked eyes, staring at one another in a standoff. Aziraphale wanted to ask, but didn’t want to pry. Crowley said nothing, still as a statue, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s.

“I suppose I should check to see if I’ve received anything nearly as fascinating as your new debit card,” Aziraphale said, turning to go back to his desk.

Relieved, Crowley took one longing look at the photo before he quickly tucked it back into his wallet.

“Angel,” Crowley said, motioning him over towards the laptop on the coffee table as Aziraphale walked in the front door. “You mentioned taking a trip. What do you think about maybe going somewhere for Valentine’s day?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised in excitement. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Why not? It could be a lot of fun,” Crowley replied. “I’ve been looking at some cottages around a little village near Oxford, Tadfield. Depending on what you’re interested in, some of them appear to have quite reasonable rates for the weekend. Do you think you could get the time off? Maybe take a three-day weekend, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?”

“I believe so. I’ve already gotten on the schedule to work the morning of the 14th so that I’d get out just before tea time. I _may_ have already arranged for Saturday and Monday off as well, you see,” Aziraphale said with a grin and a wink. “But it’ll have to do.”

Anathema and Crowley sat in a booth waiting for Newt and Aziraphale to finish up so they could leave. There was a musical that had opened this week at the Adelphi that Anathema loved and desperately wanted to see live. She had asked Aziraphale if he and Crowley would like to join them, thinking they might enjoy the show as well. Crowley also happened to love that musical. He immediately looked up the tickets to find that there were some available for around £25, which wasn’t too bad, but Anathema insisted it was a belated Christmas present. At Crowley’s insistence, she asked him for another custom portrait in return. Noticing Mary Poppins was also playing in another theater at a similar ticket price, he smiled fondly and made a mental note to check back into that later.

“Newt tells me the two of you have big plans for your first Valentine’s day weekend together,” Anathema said as she took a sip from her tea cup.

“Oh, yes,” Crowley exclaimed happily. We’re going cottaging!”

Anathema spit tea across the table, coughing.

“Are you all right?” Newt asked, rushing over to the table. Aziraphale was right behind him.

“I’m fine,” she choked out. “Just surprised, is all.”

“What did you say?” Aziraphale asked Crowley.

“I told her we were going to stay in a cottage for Valentine’s,” Crowley answered, looking just as baffled as Aziraphale.

“That’s not what you said,” Anathema started to laugh as she regained her breath.

“I _thought_ I did. What did I say?” Crowley asked, bewildered.

“You said,” Anathema looked around before continuing in a quieter voice, “You were going _cottaging_.”

“Yeah? So what?” Crowley looked confused. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? We’re going to stay in a cottage for the weekend.”

Anathema snorted a laugh. “That’s not what that means.”

Crowley’s brows furrowed as his head pulled back slightly. “What _does_ it mean, then?”

She tapped her phone a few times and slid it over to him.

Crowley’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. He looked up to find everyone staring at him. “Did you know that?”

Newt nodded.

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. “Did _you_ know about this?”

“Yes, of course!” Aziraphale said incredulously. “Where have you been?”

“How do you know this stuff?” Crowley asked him.

Everyone turned to look at Aziraphale.

“Ooh!” Newt teased, looking shocked.

“Yes, Aziraphale, how _do_ you know?” Anathema asked, grinning as she rested her chin on her knuckles.

“Don’t act innocent,” Aziraphale scoffed. “Don’t come here with your, ‘ _Ooh_!”

“It’s a minefield, clearly! I didn’t know there was this whole kind of, other language you had to learn.” Crowley said, leaning his elbow on the table to prop his head up in his hands.

Once Newt and Aziraphale had finished their clean-up, they nodded towards the remaining staff and clocked out. The four of them stepped out in to the parking lot.

“Shall we take Dick Turpin?” Newt asked.

Aziraphale shrugged, walking towards Newt’s car, motioning for Crowley to follow. They all piled into the car, Newt and Anathema up front with Crowley and Aziraphale in the back, and headed towards the Adelphi theater.

“Why do you call your car Dick Turpin?” Crowley asked as Anathema and Aziraphale groaned loudly.

“Um, well,” Newt’s grin was brightened by the oncoming headlamps as he made an attempt to weave in and out of traffic. “Dick Turpin's a famous highwayman.

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley hummed, listening.

“It's a sort of joke.”

Aziraphale and Anathema looked at one another knowingly.

“Yeah?” Crowley perked up as Anathema closed her eyes and Aziraphale leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Well, it's called Dick Turpin because everywhere it goes, it holds up traffic.”

“I bet you regret asking.” Anathema said, looking back at Crowley with a sympathetic nod.

“I don’t know. I think it’s a bit clever, actually,” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes shot open, looking Crowley up and down.

“You can sit up front with me on the way back if you want, Crowley,” Newt said, grinning and shaking his head at Anathema as she rolled her eyes in response.

The group took their seats in the theater, Newt and Crowley flanking Anathema and Aziraphale in between them. Aziraphale sat, enraptured, as the events played out on the stage.

_It's not simple to say  
That most days I don't recognize me  
That these shoes and this apron  
That place and its patrons  
Have taken more than I gave them  
It's not easy to know  
I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true  
I was never attention's sweet center  
I still remember that girl_

His breath stilled in his chest as he listened along, recognizing something in the lyrics that hit a little too close to home. _  
  
_

_She's imperfect, but she tries  
She is good, but she lies  
She is hard on herself  
She is broken and won't ask for help_

Aziraphale felt something hit the hand in his lap. He reached up to touch his face, not realizing that his eyes had been watering.

_  
She is messy, but she's kind  
She is lonely most of the time  
She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie  
She is gone, but she used to be mine_

Crowley, noticing Aziraphale’s hand moving away from his own, looked up to see the tear tracks on his cheek as Aziraphale looked at his own fingers. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, or why his angel was upset, but it didn’t matter. Those were words, and words would have to wait. All that mattered was _right now_ , and right now, Aziraphale needed an action. Well, maybe a _few_ words, too.

Crowley slipped his arm around Aziraphale, pulling his head onto his shoulder to stroke lovingly through his hair. “Shhh,” Crowley soothed him gently. “I’ve got you. It’s all right,” he whispered, softly pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead. “You’re all right.” He looked down at Aziraphale. “Do we need to step outside?”

Aziraphale sniffed, but shook his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley squeeze a little tighter. “All right, Angel. Whatever you need. Just stay with me now, okay? Can you do that?”

Aziraphale nodded, taking a deep breath.

Anathema looked over at Aziraphale, then up at Crowley with concern on her face. “Is he okay?” She mouthed silently.

Crowley nodded reassuringly as his hand moved down to rub circles along Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley smiled when he saw Anathema link her hand into Aziraphale’s hand next to her, squeezing gently as he squeezed back.

Newt leaned back to mouth at Crowley, “Do we need to go?”

Crowley shook his head no. His heart filled with warmth when he saw Newt’s hand reach over on top of where Anathema was holding Aziraphale’s hand.

As it turned out, Crowley did have words after all, but sitting in the middle of a crowded theater simply wasn’t the place to turn them loose into the air. There were too many other distractions, things that would take away from the message behind them. So, Crowley did the only thing he knew how to do, the thing he was most accomplished at. He put as much of his feelings as he could into an action, and kept the words inside where they couldn’t be twisted or tainted.

 ** _You_** _may not know how wonderful you are, Angel_ , Crowley thought, _but **we** do. You are so loved. I hope you know that. Do you know that? I’m going to do more to show you. Maybe it’s not the same as the family you grew up with, but we’re here because we **want** to be. We’re here because of **you**._

Once the show was over, Crowley helped Aziraphale to the car.

“Uh, I know we had planned on—”

“Shall I drop you off at your flat?” Newt offered with an understanding look on his face.

Crowley smiled gratefully at him. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m really tired. I think I’d like to get some rest. You don’t mind, do you Angel?”

Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley was doing, and he loved him all the more for it. “I wouldn’t mind that at all, my dear,” he replied, leaning into Crowley as the two of them sat in the back seat together.

Crowley unlocked the flat, letting them in.

“Are you hungry, Angel? I could make you something, if you like.”

Aziraphale shook his head, moving towards the bedroom. “I don’t think my stomach would like that, not right now. But thank you. I think I just want to go to sleep.”

Crowley followed him, helping him into his pajamas, and getting himself ready for bed.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale turned away from Crowley. “I’m afraid I don’t feel up to talking or anything else tonight, my dear. I just want to sleep.”

“Aziraphale…”

Crowley watched as his angel pulled the blanket up tight around himself. He needed to do something, he thought. Struggling, he had an idea. He scooted over close to Aziraphale. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over Aziraphale to softly sing into his ear.

_I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes  
They've seen things that you never quite say, but I hear  
Come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you  
And I'll stay there as long as you let me_

Aziraphale rolled over to face Crowley, his eyes wet and glistening in the moonlight coming in through the window. Crowley smiled a sad smile down at Aziraphale, holding his face between his hands. He pressed a kiss to his lips, pulling back to look into his eyes and sing the next verse.

_It's addictive the minute you let yourself think  
The things that I say just might matter to someone  
All of this time I've been keeping my mind on the running away  
And for the first time I think I'd consider the stay_

Crowley didn’t care about anything in this moment, save for making sure Aziraphale truly knew his value.

_Because you matter to me  
Simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody  
You matter to me  
I promise you do, you, you matter too  
I promise you do, you see?  
You matter to me_

Crowley wrapped himself around Aziraphale, nuzzling against his temple, kissing away the tears that had fallen down the side of Aziraphale’s face. Relaxing, Aziraphale returned the embrace before they both drifted off to sleep.

Crowley parked the Picasso in front of the quaint little cottage in Tadfield. He leaned over to open Aziraphale’s door, stealing a quick peck on the lips in the process, before getting out of the car himself. He had just turned the key in the lock and twisted the knob on the front door when he was, quite literally, swept off of his feet and spun around before being leaned back into a dip and kissed like some Hollywood starlet. He barely had time to react before he was lifted up, bridal style, and carried over the threshold after Aziraphale toed the door the rest of the way open.

“But our stuff is still in the car!” Crowley protested unconvincingly while kicking his feet demurely.

“Don’t care,” Aziraphale said, kicking the door closed behind him.

He was on a mission.

Later, after they did unload the car, Crowley went into the kitchen with a bag of very specific ingredients. He was puttering around, checking the cupboards for bowls and plates, when Aziraphale slid his arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. “What are you up to?”

“Something you aren’t allowed to see yet,” Crowley replied, quickly closing the bag in front of him. “It’s a surprise,” he said, twisting around in Aziraphale’s arms to kiss him properly.

The microwave beeped. Crowley stepped over to pull a cup out, pouring a bit of milk in. He glanced over at the drainboard and grabbed the first thing he found, a butter knife, and stirred the tea with the handle.

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, horrified, as he watched the spectacle before him.

“What the _actual fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m having tea.”

“That’s not tea, that’s an abomination!” Aziraphale sputtered.

“It’s fine, Angel. It’s mine, anyway. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to drink it.” Crowley said, taking a sip. “You’re not supposed to be in the kitchen right now, anyway.” He took another sip before his brain caught up to what just happened. “And you cursed at me!”

“You brought it on yourself, serpent.”

“A serpent is an animal, and animals don’t make tea.”

“And yet, here you are!” Aziraphale flung his hands out towards him.

“You drink it just _fine_ when I microwave it for you at _home_ ,” Crowley mumbled against his cup as he took a sip.

Aziraphale’s voice went shrill ** _. “What did you just say to me?”_**

“Nothing.” Crowley looked around from the rim of the tea cup he was hiding behind.

“You’ve been _microwaving_ my tea?”

“Not _every_ time. Just… W-well, _sometimes_.”

Aziraphale sat down at the kitchen table shakily, putting his palm on his forehead. “It’s like I don’t even _know_ you. I thought you just didn’t know what you were doing when it came to an acceptable cup of tea.” Aziraphale threw his hands up in the air. “Well, clearly I was right about _that_ part, at least. But I had no idea it was _this_ bad.”

“Oh, Angel, calm down. It’s _just_ tea.”

“Don’t poke the bear, Crowley. I have to spend an _entire_ weekend with you. How am I supposed to do that now, knowing what I know?”

Crowley helped him up, placing the cup of tea in Aziraphale’s hands. “You’ll just go into the living room and lie down with a nice cup of tea, and let me do what I came in here to do,” he said guiding Aziraphale out of the kitchen before turning around to walk back to the worktop.

Crowley grinned like a madman when he heard a growled admonishment from the living room. Aziraphale stomped back into the kitchen, summarily depositing the offending teacup next to Crowley on the worktop with a disgusted huff, before heading back into the living room.

“Did you spit in it?”

“ _Yes_.”

Crowley scrunched up his nose in a grin and drank it anyway.

Once he had finished drinking both the Angel’s share and the Devil’s cut of his abomination tea, he went to work melting chocolate and washing strawberries.

When Crowley was done, he walked into the living room to sit on the couch next to Aziraphale, placing the plate on the coffee table. He plucked one of the strawberries from the plate, holding it up with a cheeky grin. "Am I forgiven?"

Aziraphale half-glared at him, but smiled and took a bite. Crowley popped the rest in his own mouth, giving Aziraphale a quick peck while they both chewed.

“Oh, that was positively scrummy,” Aziraphale said as he finished. He leaned over to get a closer look at the actual plate. On it was a ring of assorted hand-dipped chocolate strawberries, with a focus on two in the center, one white with golden wings and a halo, and one dark with horns and a tail, arranged on the plate with edible glitter stars around them.

“I can’t _actually_ drive us to the stars, but…”

“Oh, Crowley, this is beautiful. And, is that actual gold on the wings? It’s so shiny.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said playfully. “Why don’t you check?”

Aziraphale picked up the white chocolate strawberry with the golden wings, studying it carefully. He traced his fingernail across the edge of one of the wings. It didn’t give or scrape off like gold flake would. It was hard. His eyebrows shot up as he looked at Crowley, who simply nodded once. Carefully, Aziraphale bit around the edge to pull his prize from the treat. He held the golden ring, embelleshed with angel wings, looking between Crowley and his hand. He looked sad as he opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley quickly cut him off. “Now, you don’t, you don’t have to wear that… Wear that on your left hand, or even at all, if you don’t want to. It’s not for your ring finger. It’s a pinky ring. I figure you, if you _wanted_ to, you could wear it on your right pinky. To anybody else, it’d just look like any other piece of jewelry, really,” Crowley explained nervously. “But… But _we’d_ know, y-you and me, that is. We'd know what it really meant.” He looked at Aziraphale hopefully.

Aziraphale was speechless as he handed the ring back to Crowley.

Crowley’s face fell as he felt the cold metal hit his palm. “Right. Well, then,” he said, dumbfounded, with a grunt as his fingers closed around the ring.

“No,” Aziraphale said quietly, finally able to find his voice. “You’re supposed to put it on me.” He held up his right pinky finger.

Crowley’s head shot up with delight. “Ngk,” he eloquently stated as he slid the ring onto Aziraphale’s finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of [Graham Norton... ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UztioBpKlRk)
> 
> ALSO! Please check out this fun fan art interpretation of [the tea scene by Roasted_and_Ghosted on Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDmd5XdF-RH/)


	14. The One That Got Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reunites with a blast from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter music:  
> [Chopin Fantasie-Impromptu (Op. 66) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gus4dnQuiGk)
> 
> And this song, which samples parts of Fantasie-Impromptu,  
> [Always chasing rainbows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7J3Wm4YtcE), was originally recorded by Judy Garland. It has been done and redone by many artists over the years. The version I have linked here is Puddles Pity Party, doing his cover of Alice Cooper's version of the song. I don't much care for clowns, but I love to listen to Puddles sing.

Aziraphale walked through the door to begin his shift. He was confused by the red hair he noticed in the booth where Crowley usually sat. He very specifically remembered Crowley still being asleep in bed when he kissed him goodbye before leaving. When the head turned slightly, there was a shock of white off-center to the left. It was then that Aziraphale saw the cane leaning against the seat. It was a rich mahogany with a winged serpent coiled around the top as the handle.

His heart jumped up into his throat.

“Raphael,” Aziraphale gasped.

A head poked out of the booth, grinning back at Aziraphale with delight. “Hello, stranger.”

Aziraphale came home from work to find Crowley perched on the edge of the coffee table. He couldn’t help but notice his book, closed, sitting in the center of the couch.

“You have to let me read this book, Aziraphale. It’s taunting me.” Crowley pleaded with desperate eyes.

Aziraphale's hand went to his hip. “Why is my book on the couch, Crowley?”

“I told you, it is _taunting_ me, Aziraphale. It knows. It knows how much I want to read it. But I won’t,” Crowley shook his head with a frown. “I won’t, not until you say.”

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. The book isn’t doing anything to you. It’s a book. It can’t.”

“Your books are _sentient_ , Angel. They are sentient,” he said, pointing to emphasize his words, “and they are _taunting_ me,” he said with a growl. “And until you let me read at _least_ one, I won’t believe otherwise.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I thought you didn’t read books.”

Crowley threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “That’s why it’s so _devious_!”

Aziraphale carefully collected his book, patted Crowley on the head, and put the book away.

“Ugh,” Crowley whined with disappointed irritation as he leaned back to lie down across the coffee table with his feet on the floor, covering his face with his hands to the point of muffling his voice. “This is so sad. Alexa, play Despacito.”

“ _Here is Delilah, by Queen._ ”

Crowley growled, scrubbing his hands across his face as he continued his mild tantrum atop the coffee table to the golden voice of Freddie Mercury.

“If you don’t get up from there, I’ll have no choice but to take my tea upon your stomach,” Aziraphale said, walking into the kitchen.

Crowley bit his bottom lip, letting it pop back out from between his teeth while arching his eyebrows and propping himself up on his elbows. “Would you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t hear you over all of the not-microwaving tea that I’m doing. You’ll have to wait until I get back in there, or come in here.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, dropping himself back down on the coffee table. “Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I was planning to let you ravish me, but _no_ , you’d rather have your precious tea,” Crowley mocked, mockingly.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing!” Crowley called back.

“I ran into an old friend of mine today,” Aziraphale said as he walked back into the living room, carrying two cups of tea. “We grew up together. He invited us to come to dinner tonight. Now, you don’t _have_ to, but I’d _like_ it if you’d come and meet him.” Aziraphale nudged Crowley with his knee until he sat up.

“Really?” Crowley asked, surprised. This was a rarity. Crowley thought the only person he’d meet that knew Aziraphale way back when was Michael.

“Yes, really,” Aziraphale said, handing Crowley a cup of tea before sitting down in his chair.

“Does he know you’re…”

“I should certainly hope so,” Aziraphale said with a small laugh. “He was also my first boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Crowley said quietly. “That’ll do it.”

When Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the restaurant, Crowley didn’t know what to expect. He scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that might stand out, assuming this person had even made it there yet. Also, Crowley had no idea what he looked like, so there was that.

A man with fiery red shoulder-length hair waved at them from a table. Crowley couldn’t help but notice the thick streak of stark white on the left side of the man’s head, reaching almost two-thirds of the way back. A scar ran down from beneath the white hair along the edge of his forehead and down his temple, curving across the top of his cheek, just below his mossy green eye.

“Raphael,” Aziraphale greeted as they approached the table. “This is Crowley.” Aziraphale was practically wiggling with excitement. “He’s… He’s my Crowley,” he said with a giggle and a flourish.

Aziraphale was smiling so brightly that all Crowley could do for a moment was stand there and look at him, trying not to let his face show just how amusing he found Aziraphale’s excitement. Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man seated at the table had extended his hand towards him. Crowley shook it and took a seat across from him, next to Aziraphale.

Crowley glanced at the handle of the cane. “Now _that_ is lovely,” he said. “A caduceus?”

“You recognize it?” Raphael perked up. “Do you recognize it from mythology, or do you just like snakes?”

“Little bit of both,” Crowley said, tucking his hair back behind his ear to tap his tattoo.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Raphael said, trying to get a better look.

“Bit on the nose, though, don’t you think?” Crowley asked with a grin. “Raphael with a caduceus?”

Raphael grinned back with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “As a matter of fact,” he tapped his own nose, pointing at Crowley directly after. “I _do_.”

Crowley let out an amused snort. “I like you already.”

“Now, I do hate to be rude, but I must use the restroom. I waited to make sure you found me first, and I’m afraid I can wait no longer,” he said, grabbing his cane to help himself stand up. “Can’t have a widdle in the middle of the restaurant.”

“You have a type,” Crowley whispered, watching as Raphael walked away, leaning on his cane.

“I do not,” Aziraphale protested.

“You do!” He growled playfully.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Tall, broken, and ginger. And snakes are also involved.” Crowley smiled softly as he brushed his own red hair away to reveal the scar above his eyebrow and the tattoo by his ear.

“He wasn’t always like that, broken, I mean.” Aziraphale reached up mindlessly to rub the scar behind his ear as he stared at the floor. “That happened later, right at the end.”

Crowley frowned. “You all right, Angel?”

“Oh, yes, it’s… It’s fine. That’s all in the past. We’re friends now.”

After Raphael returned to the table, orders placed, and dinner eaten, something in particular caught Crowley’s attention.

“Why don’t I give you two a moment to catch up?” Crowley said, eyeing the empty piano on the raised platform in the corner. “I’m going to go see if I can get up there and make some trouble.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley walk over to the piano with a smile.

“He seems feisty,” Raphael said. “I can see why you like him.”

Aziraphale sighed dreamily. "I do." He beamed as he turned his attention back to Raphael. “How’s Linda?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She’s actually going to be along in a couple of days, once she takes the kids to her sister’s. She suggested I come out here early to give me some time to spend with you before she had to be here for work. She’s been a bit worried about you, too.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale smiled.

“You know she’s always had a soft spot for you. I think that’s how it’s worked as well as it has for this long. She told me to talk to you about us all getting together for dinner this week. She’s going to be so excited to meet Crowley. Does he...?” Raphael’s voice trailed off, head tilting to the side as his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Oh, no. No, he doesn’t. He’s… He’s not…I, I don’t… That’s…” Aziraphale shook his head, flustered and temporarily lost for words. “He’s actually a bit shy with that sort of thing.”

“Really? That surprises me,” Raphael said with an amused smile. “About _you_ , I mean. I still don’t know _him_ well enough to make that determination.”

Aziraphale looked at Raphael for a moment, considering. There were three people in the world that knew all of Aziraphale’s secrets, but not all at once. Raphael was one of those people. “I won’t go into detail, because I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, but I can tell he’s been hurt so much in the past. It’s taken a lot of work to get to where we are now.”

“It would seem that you have a type,” Raphael teased, nudging Aziraphale’s arm gently.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Oh, don’t you start, too!”

Raphael grinned, biting his lip. “Is _that_ what the two of you talked about while I was away from the table, then?”

Aziraphale side-eyed him, trying to hide his smile. “Possibly.”

Raphael sat back, looking Aziraphale up and down. “So, this, this thing between the two of you. It’s pretty serious, isn’t it?”

“I think so, yes. You know, I actually asked him to move in with me towards the end of last year,” Aziraphale said with a gleam in his eye.

“You didn’t!” Raphael gasped in delighted shock. “I can hardly believe it. You’ve changed so much since I saw you last year.”

“I actually met him not long after the last time you were in town, when we… Well, you know. You were there,” Aziraphale grinned.

“That’s a really big step for you, isn’t it, though? After everything, I never would have imagined it. You’ve always had such strong walls partitioned around that part of your life.”

“It… It felt _right_ , like that was where we both were _supposed_ to be, him next to me.“ He said, smiling fondly as he twirled the ring on his pinky.

Raphael couldn’t help but notice. “And that ring?”

Aziraphale nodded happily. “It’s _not_ , but it _is_.”

Raphael sighed, understanding. “All good things, I suppose.” He looked at Aziraphale fondly. “That’s that, then?”

Aziraphale nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, but it’s going to have to be, I’m afraid. But I do hope you'll still visit whenever you're in London.”

Aziraphale and Raphael turned their heads towards the piano as Crowley began to play.

_Thank you for being a friend  
Traveled down a road and back again  
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant_

There was a bit of a commotion by the piano as a woman rushed over to yank the sheet music up, waving it at Crowley.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? That’s _not_ classical music.”

“That _is_ a _classic_ , and you have _no_ sense of whimsy,” Crowley hissed back at her.

Raphael laughed genuinely before he turned back to look at Aziraphale. “You don’t know how _good_ it is to see you with someone, Zach,” Raphael beamed. “I’ve been so worried about you, all these years.”

“Privately, I don’t mind it, but when I’m in public, I’d appreciate if you’d use some form of Aziraphale, please. That’s… That’s what I go by now.” Aziraphale gently corrected him.

“Shit, you’re right, Az, I’m sorry. Seeing you happy again, it was easy to forget. You’re a totally different person when you’re with him. Just like old times.” Raphael sighed, looking at his cane. “I’ve missed them, the boys I once knew, the ones we used to be.” Raphael smiled. “This is the _real_ you.” He looked back up at Aziraphale. “It’s good to see you again.”

Aziraphale let out a small laugh. “It’s good to be _seen_ ,” he said, wiping his eye. “I’ve missed you, too.” He traced his finger along the decorative wings on the handle of Raphael’s cane. “I’m so sorry about—”

“Don’t,” Raphael put his hand up. “I’ve told you, what happened wasn’t your fault. I keep trying to tell you that. Someday, maybe you’ll listen, even if it takes another twenty-five years.” He kissed the tip of two fingers, tapping them behind Aziraphale’s ear.

“You’re not upset? About this, I mean?”

“Of course I’m not upset, Aziraphale!” Raphael laughed incredulously. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy. I may be a smidge disappointed by the loss of our little dalliances, but…” He nodded towards Crowley, who was still having a rather animated argument over sheet music. “The smile _that_ _one_ puts on your face, well, that smile is worth it all.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, smiling with relief as Raphael leaned over to hug him. “Thank you,” he said, opening his eyes to see Crowley watching them. Aziraphale smiled warmly at Crowley, who relaxed and smiled back, before returning to his argument with the woman standing next to the piano.

“Do you even _play_ piano?” She asked, her hands firmly upon her hips.

“I _just_ did! You heard it.” Crowley replied, waving his arms wide as he sat on the piano bench. “That’s why you rushed over here to cause a scene.”

The woman had taken a deep breath, with finger pointed, to speak when Crowley promptly collected all of the scattered sheet music from the top of the piano, carefully positioning it into a neat stack. He smiled sweetly as he handed it to her. “I won’t be needing this,” he said as he began to play _Fantaisie-Impromptu_ with a smirk, never taking his eyes off of her until she gave in and walked away.

Raphael looked rapidly between Crowley and Aziraphale. “I know that piece,” Raphael said, wide-eyed. “He’s not using sheet music,” he said in surprise.

“He does that,” Aziraphale replied. “He uses it at first, to practice, but once he’s got something down, it’s _there_. And it rarely takes him long to do it.”

“It’s impressive.”

“If you think _that’s_ impressive, just wait.”

Once Crowley finished the song, Aziraphale called out to him. “Play the thing I can’t play!”

“Nobody wants to watch me play Candy Crush, Angel,” Crowley said sarcastically, cracking his knuckles.

“That’s not what I meant, and you _know_ it.”

Crowley grinned, flexed his fingers, and began to play _La Campanella_.

“And he just _does_ that,” Raphael said, amazed.

“He just does that,” Aziraphale said, proudly as he stared, transfixed, while Crowley played on.

Raphael smiled as he watched Aziraphale watching Crowley. He had never stopped loving Aziraphale, but over the years, the edges blurred just enough for the shape to change into something new. Not less, just different. He was truly happy for his childhood friend and first love. He had been so conflicted about things for so long as they drifted in and out of each other’s lives over the years.

Several years after everything that had happened, they had gotten back in touch with one another. They met up a few times a year to get together, always just popping in where the other would be. _Oh_ , they’d say. _Fancy meeting you here. How long has it been?_ And the dance would begin. Nothing wrong with two childhood friends running into one another and deciding to get together that evening for dinner and reminiscing. If that just so happened to occur at the friend’s hotel room, sometimes for a night or three, so be it.

He had to remind himself many times over that Aziraphale set the pace, and that Aziraphale had been firm in his decision to not let anyone in. It wasn’t about Raphael, personally. If anything, it was a testament to how much Raphael meant to Aziraphale that he got even _that_ much of him.

When Raphael met Linda, it felt a bit like a betrayal. He worried it would change things, but it didn’t, not really. To Raphael’s surprise, Aziraphale seemed relieved that he had someone new in his life. Linda was supportive and understood, once he explained everything to her. Raphael still made his visits, though they grew fewer and further between after the kids were born. That wasn’t a conscious decision, of course. It’s just how it is when kids are involved. There never seems to be enough time for anything.

At some point over the recent years, Raphael’s interest shifted more towards making sure Aziraphale wasn’t lonely. He truly enjoyed his company, and looked forward to the time they spent together, but the physical side of their relationship, once a desperate attempt to cling to memories of Before, was purely for fun as the years went by. It wasn’t a requirement, but it was nice just the same. There was a comfort in being able to be adventurous with someone familiar.

He felt so bad, so responsible, for how Aziraphale had closed himself off to the world. It had never been about owing anything to Aziraphale, necessarily, but instead about feeling that Aziraphale deserved to have some form of intimacy in his life that he could _count on_ , that would _be there_ , and still capable of being excused away in an instant.

Raphael had been there for all of Aziraphale’s quasi-relationships, as well as the inevitable break-ups. He knew the secrets Aziraphale kept when it came to his relationships. He knew how Aziraphale kept everyone at arm’s length, if not further. No one was ever allowed to get too close, except for Raphael. But he had been there Before. There were no secrets between them there. They told one another _everything_ about the people they would date, or otherwise encounter. That’s what friends were for, after all. Especially friends with all the perks and benefits they had between them.

At first, Raphael was a little bit hurt that he hadn’t heard anything about Crowley yet. But, he realized, he and Aziraphale had only been seeing each other once or twice a year recently. It had been over a year since the last time he had come to London to see Aziraphale. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, but he and Linda had decided before showing up that he might start coming to see Aziraphale more often. They could have spoken on the phone, he supposed, but he remembered how it had been when first he met Linda. Raphael had been so scared to tell Aziraphale about her, about how she wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want to hurt Aziraphale or make him feel rejected. It made more sense to him when he thought about it from that point of view. Crowley was Aziraphale’s Linda, and Aziraphale was… Well, he was Aziraphale. He kept his secrets locked away like no other.

How wonderful it was, Raphael thought, that Aziraphale was finally letting someone in. Crowley had to be something special for that to happen.

As the evening grew later, and the patience of the restaurant owner grew thinner, it was decided that the evening was ready to come to an end. Making plans to get together later in the week for dinner, Raphael went to his hotel while Aziraphale and Crowley went home.

The two sat on the couch in their flat, talking about the evening.

“Did you have a nice time tonight?” Aziraphale's head was back against the couch as he gazed fondly at Crowley.

“Of course, Angel.” He couldn’t quite shake something wiggling in the back of his mind. “I’m honestly curious about something, though, to tell the truth.”

“What about?”

“How long ago were you two together?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling as he tried to recall. “Well, we were, I think we were about 20 when we got together. We had known each other forever, though, but we both came to terms with things a bit later on, you see. Uh… About three years, give or take, I think. Officially, anyway.”

“What’s that mean, _officially_?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “And you seemed awfully close for not having been together for a couple of decades.” He held his hands up as he realized how it sounded. “Not complaining, mind. Just curious.”

“Er,” Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows, looking off to the side. “Around six or seven years after things happened, we saw one another again. We sort of… I don’t really know how to explain it. Well, whatever you wish to call it, we used to get together occasionally to reminisce… And maybe do a few other things.”

“Such as?” Crowley arched an eyebrow.

Aziraphale blinked twice at him, slowly. “If you’re asking if sex was involved, then the answer is yes.”

“How long was this going on?” Crowley was more curious than anything. Everyone had a past, and he was certainly no one to judge. He just wanted to know more about Aziraphale.

“Um… A-almost 18 years.”

“You what?” Crowley’s eyes were almost as wide as his mouth with shock. He did _not_ expect that answer. “So, you’ve essentially been in a long-distance relationship with that man for the last _two decades_?”

“Well, it wasn’t as if I could just have an _actual_ relationship with someone, now was it?” Aziraphale said, defensively.

Crowley looked down at the floor, “No, I suppose not,” he said.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean that,” Aziraphale said quickly, grabbing Crowley’s hands. “Well, I _did_ , but I never thought I could have something like _this_ ,” he said, lifting Crowley’s hands to his lips. “It’s different, with you. It always has been.”

Crowley lifted his face slightly to look up at Aziraphale.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever let get this close, besides Raphael. And I may have shared his bed, but he never shared my home.” Aziraphale ducked his head slightly to look into Crowley’s eyes. “And I’m not wearing his ring.”

There were too many words, words that Crowley didn’t want to get wrong. He didn’t want Aziraphale to feel uncomfortable talking to him about any of this, regardless of whether or not Crowley could sort out his own feelings just yet. He reached up to pull Aziraphale’s face close enough for a kiss, hoping that would be enough.

Aziraphale smiled, leaning his forehead against Crowley’s own when the kiss ended. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry if all of this has upset you. I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“I’m not upset.” This was true. He wasn’t upset. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still slightly confused. Raphael had surprised Aziraphale when he showed up today, he had gathered from the conversation. Did that mean he had assumed that he and Aziraphale would have gotten together tonight? If Crowley hadn’t been here, would Aziraphale have been with Raphael right now? 18 years, plus the three before, that was a long time, he thought. Was he standing in their way?

“You never forget your first love,” Aziraphale said. “Whether or not it lasts, there’s something special about it.”

Crowley considered that, ultimately agreeing with him. He was, after all, looking at his first love right in that very moment.

“Come to bed?” Aziraphale asked as he stood up.

“I’ll be along shortly,” Crowley said. “I think I’m going to play a little piano first. Got another song in these fingers I didn’t get to earlier, and it’s going to be stuck in my head all night if I don’t get it out.”

Aziraphale leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “I understand. Don’t be too long, though. I’ll miss you too much,” he said, stroking his thumb down Crowley’s cheek to his chin.

Once Aziraphale was in the shower, Crowley began to play.

_At the end of the rainbow there's happiness,  
And to find it, how often I've tried,  
But my life is a race, just a wild goose chase,  
And my dreams have all been denied._

_Why have I always been a failure?  
What can the reason be?  
I wonder if the world's to blame,  
I wonder if it could be me._

_I'm always chasing rainbows,  
Watching clouds drifting by,  
My schemes are just like all my dreams,  
Ending in the sky._

_Some fellows look and find the sunshine,  
I always look and find the rain.  
Some fellows make a winning, sometimes,  
I never even make a gain._

_I'm always chasing rainbows,  
Waiting to find a little bluebird in vain._

Aziraphale turned on the shower tap, but walked back over to stand next to the bedroom door, listening. Something told him he needed to hear whatever it was Crowley was going to play. His eyes watered slightly as he heard the words through the crack in the door. “Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his cheek pressed against the cool wall. “I know it’s a lot, but I’ll make it right. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yeah. This is the original version of [Thank You For Being A Friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voNEgCKzves), if you're interested. ;)
> 
> [Delilah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuXnFN2kByM) is a song Freddie Mercury wrote for his cat, Delilah.


	15. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Care And Maintenance of Tall, Broken, and Ginger People.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a busy weekend, so I'm posting Saturday's chapter a day early. It's a big, double-wide chapter, coming in at over 6100 words.  
> Hope you don't mind. ;')
> 
> The music for this chapter is [Kate Melua The Flood.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4E4-9yKTv_I)

When the day arrived that Crowley and Aziraphale would meet up with Raphael and Linda, Crowley was nervous. He hadn’t been nearly this nervous the first time he met Raphael. That was back when he thought it had simply been a case of puppy love. But now, it was different. Now he knew this wasn’t a tiny puppy love crush between high-school sweethearts. This was big helly-hellhound wizened and aged manly man love. _What?_ He rolled his eyes. _I can’t believe I just said that,_ he thought.

Crowley drove with Aziraphale to pick up Raphael from the hotel, then headed to the church where Linda was working on a fresco restoration. They had a lunch reservation to get to.

“We’ll just be a moment,” Aziraphale said as he and Raphael got out of the car to collect Linda. “Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“That’s fine, Angel.” Crowley’s brows furrowed slightly. “I’ll just wait here, then, if you like.”

Aziraphale gave a quick smile and closed the car door.

“What are they doing in there that’s taking so long?” Crowley wondered after half an hour had passed. He craned his neck to look at the door to the church, silently willing it to open and his angel to step out with a smile just for him.

Ten minutes later, Crowley turned the radio on while he waited.

_Broken people get recycled  
And I hope that I will.  
Sometimes we're thrown off our pathways  
What I thought was my way home  
Wasn't the place I know   
I'm not afraid of changing  
I'm certain nothing's certain  
What we own becomes our prison  
My possessions will be gone  
Back to where they came from_

Crowley leaned his head back, blowing his cheeks out in a percussive puff of air. “He loves me, doesn’t he?” Crowley asked the radio. “Maybe. But he loves Raphael, too. He said as much, basically. And they have so much history. And now Raphael’s back. He’s here. They’re in there, together, doing… Something. I’ve no idea. They left me out of it. What am I even doing here?”

_See the rock that you hold onto  
Is it gonna save you  
When the earth begins to crumble?  
Why do you feel you have to hold on?  
Imagine if you let go_

“ _Should_ I let go?” Crowley asked the radio again. “Is that what you’re telling me? I want to hold on so badly, but is that what _he_ wants? What does he want?”

_Blame, no one is to blame  
As natural as the rain that falls  
Here comes the Flood again_

“It’s not his fault, is it? Not mine, either." He traced his fingertips along the steering wheel with a sigh. "I didn't mean to fall in love.”

_Wash away the weight that pulls you down  
Ride the waves that free you from the dusk_

“And it’s obvious that Raphael loves Aziraphale. Even someone like _me_ can see that.”

_Don't trust your eyes  
It's easy to believe them  
Know in your heart  
That you can leave your prison_

“I just want him to be happy.”

_Don't trust your mind  
It's not always listening  
  
_

He turned off the radio with a growl. “You’re really not helping matters.”

The only thing that could pull him from his melancholy meanderings was a deep and urgent, now painful, need that had been building within him since Aziraphale and Raphael left him in the car almost an hour ago.

_There’s going to be a flood, there’s going to be a flood, there’s going to be a flood_ —

“Nope,” he said out loud, derailing his train of thought. “Not going to piss in my car.” He got out, slamming the door behind him for multiple reasons, and carefully made his way into the church.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley came down the aisle, practically dancing. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you said you’d only be a few minutes!” Crowley hissed, shifting from foot to foot. “I am at risk of soiling myself, and quite possibly hospitalization, if I don’t find a restroom soon.” He grimaced as he leaned on one of the pews.

“Why didn’t you go before we left?”

“I _did_. _You’re_ the one that keeps telling me to drink more water, and you left me out there nearly an hour!”

“It has _not_ been an—” Aziraphale looked at his pocket watch and cringed. It had _indeed_ been nearly an hour. “I’m sorry. We seemed to have lost track of time. It didn’t even occur to me.”

“You mean you forgot I was out there,” Crowley muttered under his breath while Aziraphale looked away guiltily.

“Linda couldn’t come down when we got here,” Raphael jumped in to explain. “She had already started removing the top layer in that section.” He pointed to where a woman with jet-black hair braided down to her hips was standing on scaffolding, delicately scraping away at a section of plaster. “We have to wait until she finishes that layer before she can get to a stopping point,” Raphael shrugged apologetically.

“Right. As much as I would love to keep arguing about this, I am _this_ close,” Crowley held his thumb and forefinger together, “To needing a real miracle to avoid pissing myself. I don’t even know if I can make it back to the car to go somewhere. _Please_ tell me there’s a restroom here I can use. I don’t want to wet myself, and I _really_ would like to avoid another stint in the hospital.” He was practically hopping trying not to double over.

Without looking away from the plaster before her, Linda called down to them in a dusky voice. “To your left, follow the hallway down and make a right. The door should be marked.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said frantically as he hobbled his way back down the aisle, trying to hold himself up on the sides of the pews as he made the trek.

Aziraphale rushed over to take his arm. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Let me help you.”

Crowley begrudgingly allowed Aziraphale to help him, purely because he wasn’t sure he was going to make it to the restroom on his own.

As they were over an hour and a half late for lunch, they missed their reservation and had to wait for a table to become available. Crowley was distracted by the indoor fish pond, surrounded by plants. “I’ll meet you over at the bar in a few minutes,” he said, reaching into his pocket for coins to make a wish.

Aziraphale, Linda, and Raphael walked over to the bar, sitting at a high top table to wait.

“Do you know what would make this wait better?” Raphael asked.

“Scotch and soda with a twist?” Aziraphale replied.

“You know me so well,” Raphael smiled.

“I’ll go put in an order,” Aziraphale said. “Linda?”

“Dirty martini, up with olives.”

“I’ll be back in a tick.” Aziraphale said as he turned and headed towards the bartender.

Crowley stood in front of the pond, coins in hand, staring down at the remnants of wishes made by others beneath the surface of the water.

_I wish I knew what to do_ , Crowley wished as he threw in the first coin.  
_I wish I knew what he wanted_ , Crowley thought as he threw in another.  
“I wish I was enough,” he whispered as he kissed the final coin to throw in.

Crowley returned to the group just as Aziraphale placed a tray with three drinks on the table.

“Did you _actually_ forget to order a drink for Crowley, Aziraphale?” Raphael asked playfully.

“He didn’t,” Crowley smiled as he explained. “He knows I don’t drink on account of my kid—"

Aziraphale gasped, speaking at the same time as Crowley. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry I forgot about you.”

“—neys.” Crowley finished as the smile fell off of his face. “You… Forgot about me.” Crowley’s shoulders slumped. “I assumed… Because I can’t…” He pressed his lips into a tight line, exhaling sharply through his nose. “But no,” he said quietly. “You forgot about me, _again_.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale was horrified at himself. “I really _am_ sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

“I, uh… I’ll be back in… I need to, um… Need to use the restroom,” Crowley faltered in an attempt to excuse himself.

Raphael watched with a worried expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Neither did I, I’m afraid. I’m going to, um, I’m going to need to go take care of that,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Linda nodded, understanding. She remembered how it felt for her, and it had only been eight years when she went through it. She could only imagine how intimidating eighteen years would have been to someone, especially someone in Crowley’s position. “We’ll just stay here in the bar until a table becomes ready,” she said. “Might pass up the next table and wait for the one after that to give you two a chance to talk. Take your time.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley into the restroom. He tried a few doors before finding the one that was locked. He knocked on the door softly. “Crowley?”

There was no answer.

Aziraphale knocked again, more firmly. “Crowley, open the door.”

“I am having a _moment_ here!” Aziraphale could barely hear Crowley shout from what he assumed was the other side of the restroom.

“Yes, and that’s why you need to let me in.”

“Go away, Aziraphale,” Though he was trying to be loud, Crowley’s voice was muffled through the closed door. “I don’t want you to see me like this right now. Go play with your friends. I’ll be along shortly.”

“I’m not going to step away from this door until I’m on the other side of it, I’m afraid. You’re just going to have to let me in,” Aziraphale replied, trying to speak into the crevice between the door and the door facing.

Crowley opened the door a crack, growling. “I can’t hear you through the door, but I’ll assume you’re not going away.”

“Will you please let me in? I need to see you. Please?” He reached his fingers through the door near the handle, trying to find Crowley’s hand to touch it. He briefly considered pushing his way in, as he knew he outmatched Crowley in strength, but thought better of it. That _definitely_ would have made matters worse, he reckoned. “Please?” He repeated.

With a pause and a sigh, the door slowly opened. “I suppose you expect me to stay in here, too, then?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” Aziraphale replied with a shy grin as he stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

Crowley leaned back against the wall opposite the door, covering his face in his hands so Aziraphale couldn’t see it. “Say what you mean to say, then.”

“I’d really prefer to speak to your face than to the back of your hands.”

“And _I’d_ prefer to not be having a panic in the loo with you in audience, but life has not been kind to me in that regard.”

Unsure of what else to do in that moment, Aziraphale simply lay his head on Crowley’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. He felt Crowley’s chest heave a few times in response before he settled down to breathe more evenly. Aziraphale felt him shift beneath him, looking up to find he now only had one hand covering his eyes. “Let’s get you over to the sink to get cleaned up, shall we?”

Crowley nodded, eyes still closed, and let Aziraphale guide him towards the sink.

Finding nothing available on the counter but Crowley’s sunglasses, assorted soaps, lotions, and facial tissues, Aziraphale pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wet it underneath the tap and wrung it out to wash over Crowley’s face.

Crowley leaned into the coolness of the damp cloth, letting out a huff of breath. “I’m sorry.”

“My dear, I can assure you that you have _nothing_ to apologize for,” Aziraphale said, continuing to dab gently along Crowley’s eyes and face. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you for not doing a better job of making sure you know your worth.”

“Angel, I—”

“What was it you said to me not too long ago? Something about, ‘It goes without saying, but maybe you need to hear it,’ wasn’t it?”

Crowley opened his eyes and nodded.

“I’ve tried saying it, but after how horribly I handled things today, I believe you need _more_. Some people are more visual learners. Perhaps you also need to be _shown_.” Aziraphale quickly unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt, running his hands inside to wrap around him as he mouthed his way up Crowley’s neck.

“Is… Is this cottaging? Are we _cottaging_?” Crowley asked in amusement, tilting his face towards Aziraphale.

“Stop talking, dear,” Aziraphale laughed against his lips. “Because it’s time for you to pay attention.”

“Is there going to be a quiz?” Crowley asked between kisses.

“As a matter of fact, there _is_.” Aziraphale replied, biting his lip gently before he turned Crowley around to face the large mirror above the sink.

Aziraphale stood behind him, both of them facing the mirror. He took his left hand and grabbed Crowley by the chin, gently, turning his head to face their reflection. “While you listen to everything I _say_ , I want you to watch everything I _do_ , Crowley. Do you understand me?” Aziraphale opened his hand, but left it still touching, as Crowley nodded. Aziraphale slid the palm of his hand down the front of Crowley’s throat and over his clavicle slowly. He turned so that his fingers pointed down, sliding firmly, but gently, down along Crowley’s exposed torso, watching carefully to make sure Crowley didn’t miss a thing. He moved his hand past the button on Crowley’s jeans, down further, to cup the growing bulge there.

Crowley let out a soft whine as Aziraphale squeezed his left hand while his right hand traced along Crowley’s stomach to his waistband, unbuttoning the buttons and drawing down the zipper. Looking up briefly to make sure Crowley was watching in the mirror, Aziraphale used both hands to slide his jeans and pants down to his knees. When he stood back upright, he reached to unbutton and lower his own.

He leaned around Crowley to grab the lotion on the counter, squirting some in the palm of his hand to warm. “If you’ll remember this, I need you to keep your legs held together, please.”

Crowley nodded, watching as Aziraphale reached behind him.

Aziraphale slipped his slick fingers between the very top of Crowley’s thighs, wrenching a soft gasp from him. Using a bit more lotion, he ran his hand over his own cock, almost fully hard, and pressed forward to slide into the crevice right where Crowley’s legs met his pelvis. He reached his right hand back around in front of Crowley, placing it on his chest. “Who put that ring on my hand?” Aziraphale asked in a low voice.

“Me.”

“Do you like seeing your ring on my finger?” Aziraphale asked as he slowly moved his hips against Crowley.

“Yes,” Crowley breathed, watching as Aziraphale’s hand moved lower along his stomach.

“I like it, too,” Aziraphale whispered, dragging his fingertips down along Crowley before reaching for more lotion. “Do you know what else I like, Crowley?”

Crowley visibly swallowed before responding. “What’s that?”

“I like how your ring looks on my hand when my hand is on your cock,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s ear. “Do you like that, too?”

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale wrapped his slick fingers around Crowley’s now fully erect hardness and began to stroke. “Yesss,” he hissed.

Aziraphale nuzzled against Crowley’s shoulder, dragging the fingertips of his left hand up and down Crowley’s chest and sides while his right hand firmly pulled the pretty whimpers and sighs from Crowley’s throat. He relished the sight of Crowley watching while he worked him over in the mirror.

“Who loves you?” Aziraphale asked, punctuated by his hips.

“You do,” Crowley said, closing his eyes.

“Open your eyes, Crowley. I want you to look at us. Who’s going to take you home?”

“You are.”

“Whose bed are you going to sleep in tonight?”

“Yours,” Crowley gasped.

“Try that again.”

“Mine?”

“Try,” Aziraphale gripped his fist tighter around Crowley’s cock, thrusting harder at the same time. “Again.” He looked directly into Crowley’s wide eyes in the mirror.

“Ours! Ours!” Crowley cried out.

“That’s right. That’s good. You’re doing so well, my love,” Aziraphale’s voice was a deep rumble in Crowley’s ear as he increased the speed of both his wrist and his hips, holding his left arm tight around Crowley's chest. “It’s _our_ bed that _we_ share, in _our_ home. And when I get you home, I’m going to lay you down in _our_ bed and make love with you for as long as it takes to convince you.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against Aziraphale.

“And then we’re going to do it again,” he growled, gently biting against Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale could see the flush running down Crowley’s chest in the reflection of the mirror. He grabbed Crowley's hip with his left hand and gripped even tighter with his right, causing Crowley to lurch forward to grasp the sink. “Look at me, Crowley. You have to look at me.” Aziraphale leaned across his back to whisper in his ear. “Whose side, Crowley?”

“ _Our_ side! We’re on _our_ side!” Crowley near-shouted, looking directly into Aziraphale’s eyes through the mirror as he came.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley back up to lean against his chest, sliding his left hand up into Crowley’s hair to turn his head just enough to bring their lips together as he continued to thrust between his thighs, chasing his own release.

The cleaned one another up in between kisses and grins, dressing quickly to exit the restroom. Unlocking the door, Crowley slipped his sunglasses back on. He opened the door to find Linda propped up against the wall. She glanced at Aziraphale and nodded towards Raphael, who was seated at a table. She took Crowley by the hand to lead him back towards the bar area.

Before they got too far from the restrooms, Linda leaned over to whisper as her hands quickly reached for Crowley’s shirt. “You missed a button, love,” she said, unbuttoning the bottom three buttons to straighten out Crowley’s shirt and rebutton. “There, now. Nice and sorted,” she said with a knowing smile.

“Thank you,” Crowley said quietly in appreciation. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

“No worries. I think you took it better than I did. It took me a lot longer than that to calm down before I could even _start_ to process everything,” she said as they made their way to the bar to sit down.

“Really?” Crowley asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. And that was only eight years of history. You’ve got _eighteen_. You’re doing so _well_ , love,” she said, causing Crowley to blush at the recent memory of that very phrase. “Did you know that Raphael forgot to wait for me to come out of the restroom at a restaurant once? They were in separate cars. They both just left without me.” She made a face that was a cross between amused and shocked while raising her hands up in a shrug.

“They didn’t!” Crowley gasped.

Linda nodded vigorously. “They _did_. I was so mad I just went home and started mixing up his DVDs in the cases.”

“You didn’t!” Crowley’s face was full of delighted amusement and shock.

“I did. I even swapped a few out for CDs.”

Crowley let out a bark of laughter. “They’re just a couple of right tossers, aren’t they?”

Linda looked over at Raphael and Aziraphale as they laughed and talked with one another. “It seems that way, at first,” she said with melancholy smile. “And it definitely feels that way, from our side of it,” she looked at Crowley. “But, in time, you’ll find that it’s just how they are when they’re together. It’s like the world melts away and it’s just them, one entity split between two bodies. Sometimes I slip up and call them AziRaphael.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re in the way?” Crowley asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth. _Too late now_ , he supposed. _Might as well go with it._ “How do you deal with that?”

“I did, actually, at first. I could tell that’s what was upsetting you, too. And I’ll be honest with you. I think that, if they hadn’t gone through what they did back then, there’s a chance that neither of us would be here to have this conversation.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

Linda looked at Crowley for a moment, considering. “I don’t know what Aziraphale has or hasn’t mentioned, so I can’t speak to that. I only know what Raphael has told me. A long time ago, Raphael got hurt very badly. That’s how he got the scar on his face, and why he walks with a limp. Aziraphale took the blame on himself and it drove a wedge between them until it split them apart. It was never the same, after that. I know there’s more to the story, but I don’t think I’ll ever know truly what happened. Raphael doesn’t talk about it, not after the one time he explained it just enough so that I’d understand. And while I don’t _truly_ understand, I _accept_ it. You’ll have to figure out if you can accept it or not.”

“Is it worth it?” Crowley asked. “I mean, I’m… I’m not going anywhere regardless. But is it?”

“I think it is,” Linda smiled, squeezing his hand. “Anything else you’ll need to discuss with Aziraphale, though I think we both know he isn’t exactly forthcoming with information to anyone that isn’t Raphael or his sister. But I think if anyone else would be in his circle of trust, it would be you. You’re the first of his partners we’ve officially met face to face. Usually, he barely mentions someone he’s seeing. But you, he was positively chuffed to show you off.”

Crowley smiled broadly.

“He had no interest in any sort of romantic relationships before this, not since they split up so long ago, according them both. I _do_ know that much. All Aziraphale was looking for was sex and someone to talk to.”

It’s amazing how much can go through one’s mind in an instant when they’re an accomplished worrier. What Linda said didn’t make a lot of sense to Crowley. Well, it did, but it didn’t match with what Michael had said about Aziraphale’s romantic partners. Or did it?

_Maybe that’s why his relationships never lasted_ , Crowley thought _. They wanted more than he was willing to…_ _Oh. Well, then_ , now that he thought about it, _that was **exactly** it, wasn’t it? Is he just going through the motions with me? It **feels** real, I think. But how should I know about what love is? Nobody’s ever loved me, except **maybe** him. I’m just a bundle of nerves and noisy reactions scooped up into a hollow tube, like, like one of those stick thingies that go ‘neeeeuuuuuuuurrr’ when you turn them over._

He rolled his eyes at himself from behind his sunglasses _. There has got to be a better way to describe that, but I don’t know what it is._

“And,” Linda added, leaning in to whisper. “He’s never turned Raphael down before you.”

“What do you mean?”

Linda's tanned skin went pale. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“Do you mean about the full scope of their relationship?" Crowley chose his words carefully, just in case she wasn't talking about the sexual relationship between both of their partners. She had to have been, he thought, but still, better safe than sorry. He barely knew this woman, but he didn't want to hurt her if she somehow didn't know. "He told me about it, yeah, but he didn’t say it was still going on,” Crowley replied, his nerves coming dangerously close to triggering a Crowley.exe failure.

“That’s because it’s _not_. Aziraphale told him the other day there wasn’t going to be anymore sex between them now that he has you.”

_Ah, she knew. But why would he do that? They’ve been fucking for two decades. I’ve barely let him do anything to me other than a few touches here and there. If all he wanted was someone to fuck and talk to, I have been sorely lacking in both areas for the bulk of this relationship. And it’s not like I told him he **couldn’t** fuck someone else. Maybe he **does** love me? I **think** he does._

_I **hope** he does._

Crowley sighed. “I wish he had told me that to begin with. Might have saved me from my own head.”

_Nah. You know it wouldn’t have mattered. You’re the architect of your own demise. Own that shit._

Linda smiled with a wink. “Probably not, though, eh?”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “No, probably not.” He grinned down at her. “I can’t tell you how much better I feel after talking to you.” _Because I’m still figuring it out, but I appreciate you trying._

“You don’t have to. I already know, remember? I’ve got the other bookend to our set.”

“Bell end, more like,” Crowley snorted.

Linda let out a peal of laughter. “You’re probably right.”

They joined Aziraphale and Raphael at the table, this time Aziraphale waiting to order to make sure Crowley’s selection was given to the waiter first. The conversation was pleasant and lively as they dined, alternating between reminiscing and getting to know each other better.

Raphael noticed Crowley sneaking bits of Aziraphale’s favorite things off of his own plate onto Aziraphale’s when he wasn’t looking. Crowley, realizing he was caught, winked at him.

“You’ve got a good one, there, Az,” Raphael said with a smile.

“Az?” Crowley grinned, looking at Aziraphale.

“Oh, I’ll never get your name right,” Raphael quietly wailed.

Crowley laughed. “It _is_ a mouthful, isn’t it? I _almost_ called him _Alphabet_ when we first met. He told me his name one time, while I had a fresh head wound, mind, and all I could remember was an A and a Z and a bunch of other letters. So it was either that or Angel, because, well, _look_ at him.” Crowley gestured towards Aziraphale, tilting his head back fondly with a soft smile.

Linda and Raphael grinned while Aziraphale blushed.

“Anyway,” Crowley continued. “When I told him I couldn’t remember his name, he just,” Crowley sneered playfully and shrugged his shoulders, “Bastard that he is, he didn’t even repeat it. Just sat in my hospital room, because the man has _no_ mercy, reading his blasted book to let me keep calling him Angel. And it stuck.”

“At least _you_ had a decent excuse. I’ve had twenty-five years to get used to calling him Aziraphale, and I still want to call him—” Raphael caught himself. “Sorry. I almost did it again.”

Crowley looked questioningly between the two. “I thought you grew up together.”

“My _first_ given name is Aziraphale,” he explained, “But growing up, I went by my _second_ given name, Zachary. Raphael grew up calling me Zach.”

“And occasionally,” Linda said, “He forgets himself and still does.”

“What made you change it?” Crowley asked.

Other than the scar hidden in his hair behind his own ear, all Aziraphale had were emotional scars. Yet after his attack, he chose to hide behind a different name and a generic identity that fit about as well as a suit custom-tailored for someone drastically different than himself. It was too restrictive and tight where there should be flexibility and give, and no support where he needed it most. It had never fit him comfortably and didn’t breathe well at all.

Raphael and Crowley had physical reminders, both inside and out, of how their own lives had been changed. Between Raphael’s limp and Crowley’s kidney damage, they had to deal with that every day for the rest of their lives, not to mention the scars all along both of their faces, backs, and hips. But they didn’t hide from any of it. Aziraphale admired both of them. They were so brave, he thought. He wished he could be half as strong as they were. And so he stood still, watching as they raced along.

It was unfair, what he was doing to Crowley. Something so beautiful and pure shouldn’t be hidden away. He could just kick himself for making Crowley feel like less, and not just once, today. Crowley deserved better, deserved more. It scared Aziraphale how Crowley didn’t fit into a little box behind one of his walls, but it also excited him. Maybe it was time for a change.

He had managed to spread himself out between boxes to the point that the changes had appeared to become immutable over time. There was no coming back from it. The damage had been done. Or so he thought. Where once only Raphael had been allowed, Crowley had managed to find a way in. And even in places where Raphael had not been allowed to return to for the last 25 years, Crowley just walked in like he owned the place and made a home for himself there.

Aziraphale _loved_ Crowley. He hadn’t felt a love like that since he first fell in love with Raphael long ago. After everything had happened, Aziraphale shut himself down, boxing off the love in his heart between barricades so that what once existed was still _there_ , but it was broken into sections that had no room to stretch or touch, and nothing new could possibly get in. It was safer that way. Precious things kept hidden were safe from prying eyes and harsh hands, even if that meant he, too, had to do without. And yet, somehow, Crowley had snaked his way through the untended cracks and fractures left in the wake of a life less traveled. Crowley had left something imperfect, but beautiful, in its place as he connected the broken pieces of Aziraphale’s love back together, like a Kintsugi bowl. Crowley deserved _better_ than what Aziraphale had allowed him. Maybe they both did.

It still amazed Aziraphale how Raphael didn’t blame him for any of it, having forgiven him long ago, but he knew better. _If he had never met me_ , Aziraphale thought, _he would be able to walk without pain._ Aziraphale thought about all the times he ran his fingers through Raphael’s hair, tracing the scar all the way along to the back of his head where the white hair stopped and it became red once more. It began coming in that way when it started growing back after everything had happened _. I wonder if his hair never would have turned white?_

_I should be ashamed of what I’ve done to both of them_ , Aziraphale thought. _And I am. What right do I have to hide these beautiful, bright stars in the shadows of my own cowardice? I can never make this up to Raphael, but maybe I can fix things with Crowley._

_Maybe._

Aziraphale looked at the scar running from Raphael’s scalp to his cheek, then to the one above Crowley’s eyebrow, and changed the subject. “I’m in the mood for something chocolate, I think. Anyone else fancy a bit of cake?”

“You’re always in the mood for chocolate,” Crowley scrunched up his nose.

Aziraphale pouted, wrapping his arms around Crowley and leaning his head on his shoulder. “Fine. What are _you_ in the mood for now?”

_Alcohol,_ Crowley thought. _Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol. But I can’t drink, which is a damn shame because I don’t know how to handle this. You’re **never** this openly affectionate in public where people can see us, especially not in daylight, and not without an excuse. We were pushing the limits when we saw Shakespeare in the park. But I didn’t know then what I know now about how important it is for you to stay hidden, and you weren’t paying attention to what you were doing. Are you not paying attention now?_

“Would you like something with fruit?” Aziraphale offered when Crowley didn’t answer. “What would you say to some crepes? Maybe some with apples and cinnamon?”

“A-anything you like, Angel,” Crowley said, not fully listening. He was too busy enjoying the warmth of the angel pressed against him on the outside while having an existential crisis on the inside. Crowley closed his eyes to try to keep his breathing calm and center himself. _Do I need to shut this down? Please don’t make me stop this. I want it so much. Why did you do this? I’ve been fine without it for so long. I thought I was fine, anyway. Now I’m not so sure. Please don't stop._

Aziraphale didn’t move away when the waiter came to take their order. He stayed put when the waiter came back with their desserts. And when Crowley offered Aziraphale a bite from his plate, but Aziraphale guided Crowley’s hand to feed him directly from his own fork, Crowley was the happiest and most miserable he had ever been in his entire life. That the sound Aziraphale made was one that caused Crowley and Raphael both to take in a sharp breath did not help matters at all.

Aziraphale noticed a bit of cinnamon syrup on the corner of Crowley’s mouth and pressed his lips to Crowley’s to sweep it away with his tongue before Crowley could wipe his face with his napkin. That was when Crowley.exe stopped and he closed his eyes to make a noise of his own. When he opened them behind his sunglasses, he found two sets of amused eyes looking back at him, and an adoring smirk at his side.

“Not that I mind, but someone could see us, Aziraphale. What’s gotten into you?” Crowley asked quietly, glancing around the restaurant.

“I think I’ve been rather unfair to you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “To both of you,” he nodded to Raphael, who returned the nod with one of his own, “And to myself.”

“I appreciate how you treated them,” Aziraphale said to Crowley as they walked into their flat.

“Oh, there’s nothing to appreciate, Angel.”

“Yes, there _was_. Some people might have been jealous or angry, but you were pleasant and kind, even when you were upset. And you had _every right_ to be upset, to feel angry, or even jealous at how things looked.”

“I didn’t have any reason to feel jealous, though,” Crowley explained. “I almost did, at first. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Well, not _jealous_ , really, but…” He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “You know how sometimes, well, I don’t know if _you_ do, but I know _I_ do, anyway…”

Aziraphale watched him patiently as he worked out what he was trying to say.

Crowley groaned. “Well, sometimes I get in my own head, don’t I? You do it, too, actually. Now that I think about it, I _know_ you do. Anyway,” Crowley sniffed, looking around. “Pretty sure you figured out that I did feel like maybe I was in the way, of… Well, of you and Raphael. Couldn’t get it out of my head for the last few days. I wasn’t jealous. I was just,” He sighed. “I was just scared, I guess.”

“I did get that idea, yes,” Aziraphale smiled, brushing the back of his knuckles along Crowley’s cheek. “And I’m so sorry I behaved so thoughtlessly that I made you feel that way. But I hope I settled that for you.”

“You did. You did, definitely. It helped. It was great when you _included_ me, and made it very obvious I was important to you. Felt nice, actually.” _Stop talking about that in case he pulls back and takes it away. Don’t tell him how much you needed it. Just… Talk about something else_. “And I liked them, too. Linda was amazing, by the way. I _really_ like her.”

“They really _do_ like you, you should know. Raphael was especially charmed. He says you’re good for me, and I tend to agree.” Aziraphale stroked his thumb across Crowley’s cheek, smiling up at him.

“I liked Raphael, too. He acknowledged me and didn’t treat me as if I weren’t there. It was respectful. You made it clear I was yours, and he made it clear he understood that boundary, you know? Nobody got offended or mad or anything. Everybody had a great time. Well, I mean, after everything. After…” Crowley blushed a bit, remembering his trip to the restroom at lunch. “Right.” He took a quick breath as if he were trying to think of what to say. “That helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And now,” Aziraphale said, reaching around Crowley to hoist him up bridal-style, “I have a promise to keep.”

“I will never _not_ be amazed at how strong you are to do this,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, kicking his feet as he was carried down the hallway towards their bedroom. He might not be certain of a lot of things, but he knew he was looking forward to being doted upon tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Groan Stick that goes "neeeeuuuuuuuurrr."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdNJfbPnlQ8)


	16. Happiness is Finding Your Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory? In _this_ fic?
> 
> It's more likely than you think.

Aziraphale put his keys on the hook by the door and walked over to where Crowley was working on a large canvas. “What’s that you’re painting?”

“It’s a commission,” Crowley replied from behind the easel.

Aziraphale walked behind Crowley, taking a good look at the painting. There were two winged men, one with dark wings and one with light. He tilted his head slightly as he studied it before finding his voice.

“That’s pornographic,” Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised as he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist from behind to rest his chin on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not. How? How is that pornographic? They’re doing battle.”

“Yes, and you can practically imagine the weight of their swords as they stab into one another.”

“What are you on about? They haven’t got any weap—” He let out a scandalized gasp. “How dare you!”

Aziraphale pointed between the two beings. “That’s nudity.”

“That’s art!”

“You really don’t see it?” Aziraphale tilted his head again to get a better look.

Crowley pouted at the canvas, tilting his head in the same direction as Aziraphale to look it over once more. “Well, now I can’t see anything _else_. Right. I can’t present this to the client. I’ll have to figure out something else to do.”

“I suppose _I_ could _show_ you what to do,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s ear before rushing down the hall towards the bedroom.

It took a few seconds for Crowley’s brain to process what Aziraphale had said and meant. His eyes widened as he put down his paint brush, wiped his hands off, and took off running after Aziraphale down the shiny hardwood floor. It was Wednesday, according to his socks, and that meant Aziraphale was off work tomorrow. The was a lot of potential for battle between now and Friday morning. In his haste to catch up to the angel, he skidded in his sock feet and hit the wall with a loud thud.

The wall banged back in response.

“Consider that a warning, you miserable old git!” Crowley yelled at the wall, banging his fist in return.

“If Shadwell’s not careful, I’m going to stop paying him to wash our cars.”

“You _what_?” Crowley’s eyes went wide.

“I pay him to keep our cars washed. Did you think he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart?”

“No, I thought he was doing it because _I’ve_ been paying him to.”

The wall banged back again.

Crowley banged on the wall seven times, stopping only long enough to switch hands to do it again. “Listen up, you old grifter!” Crowley was shouting now. “If I hear _one more bang_ from that wall, I’ll make sure _none_ of us gets any sleep _at all_ tonight!”

There was a pause, followed by one more bang from the other side of the wall.

“Oi! You- I- Uh- Of course, of course! Right!” Crowley sputtered as his face went through rapid contortions. “I’m going to drink my water _right now_!” Crowley yelled at the wall.

Aziraphale looked confused, whispering as he pointed towards the wall. “What does water have to do with it?”

Crowley grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “You’re going to need to hydrate, too, Angel.” Crowley turned back to yell at the wall with a throaty growl and another rap of his fist. “I intend for us to _put on a_ _show_!”

“Who is that, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, noticing the picture on Crowley's phone screen.Crowley to jumped in surprise. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Uh, erm, eh, it, uh…” Crowley stammered before looking up from his phone to grimace at the ceiling. He let out a huff of breath and looked at Aziraphale. “I honestly don’t know,” he said softly.

“You’re looking at photographs of a child you don’t know?”

Crowley’s eyebrows knit together pensively. “I _used_ to know him.”

Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Crowley’s eyes flickered up at Aziraphale and back down to the floor.

“All right. Do you think you _need_ to talk about it?” Aziraphale asked, pulling him close enough that Crowley could lean his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder to keep flipping through the pictures on Instagram.

Crowley nodded against Aziraphale’s neck, still flipping back and forth along the same five photos in the post. “It’s his birthday.”

“Oh? How old is he today?”

“Ten. He’s ten today,” Crowley sniffed.

“Crowley, who is he?”

“Mm… Eh…“ Crowley sighed. “That’s not an easy answer to give, Angel. Long story. But the short version is that I used to be his Godfather, sort of.”

“I’ve got the time,” Aziraphale squeezed him gently.

Crowley blew a huff of breath out. “Oh, all right. I, uh… I used to work for someone. The details aren’t really all that important. Anyway, er, he was seeing someone. She was married, but not to him. Ngk,” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. “She got pregnant. Anyway, he was excited, right? That’s good, that’s how you hope these things turn out, the excitement about it, I mean. But the kind of work he does, it’s not really conducive to raising a child.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised slightly as he tilted his head towards Crowley.

“Don’t get too excited, Angel. I didn’t go for any of that. I just played piano a few nights a week. In fact, I think that was probably a lot of why things happened the way they did, because I didn’t get into the messier part of things. Wasn’t really my scene. Can you imagine? _Me_ being the moral high ground?”

Aziraphale smiled at that. He had no problems imagining that, actually.

“Anyway, so, she was still married to this politician type. I think he was some sort of dignitary or diplomat or professional arse-kisser or something like that. Anyway, he needed her to play the part of the happy little wife at events. The American, I mean. They were Americans. Well, not my old boss. The…” Crowley shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. So, raising a child in that line of work, with her only being there part time, that’s where I came in.”

Aziraphale was so confused, but he was scared to say anything in case Crowley stopped talking. Luckily, Crowley looked up just in time to catch his expression.

“You have no idea what I’m saying, do you?” Crowley asked with a sigh.

Aziraphale gave a shrug and a pained smile.

“Right, okay. So maybe we do need a little more of the details. Anyway, Harriet, th-that was her name, was still married to Thad, the American. They were _both_ Americans. Louis, that’s my old boss, he’s not… Not an American. He’s actually from Hammersmith. Right, okay, so Harriet was still married to Thad, who needed Harriet to make appearances at political events with him, but otherwise, she pretty much was always with Louis.”

Aziraphale was doing his best to follow along.

“Louis has the bright idea that since I’m there already, I could keep up with the boy. He asked me if I’d be willing to tend to the kid, and you know, I, I like kids, mostly. And I didn’t want to do any of the other stuff Louis paid people to do, o-other than what I was already doing, so I said yes. So, yeah, I took care of the boy most days and nights while they were together.”

Crowley smiled a smile Aziraphale had never seen on him before. “That little boy was something else. He was a remarkable child. Smart as a whip, that one. You should have seen him, Angel. You’d have loved him. I know I did. Loved him, I mean. Still do, but…” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he looked away.

“What happened, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley wiped his eyes. “Things didn’t work out between Harriet and Louis, and they split up a few years later when she went back to her husband. I was still watching the boy, just a little less often when Harriet had him. But she still had me watch him for her when she had to go to events and such like. Really, _that_ part wasn’t too much of a change for me or the kid. Still saw him practically every day. Took him to school, picked him up. Tucked him in three or four nights a week. You know, lullabies and bedtime stories and the like." Crowley sighed. "Right. That lasted about a year.” Crowley covered his eyes with his hand.

“What happened after that?” Aziraphale held Crowley tight.

“Thad, uh, he… He was due to go back to the states,” Crowley explained. “And Harriet was going to go with him. Louis got angry. Said she couldn’t take his son to another country. Trouble was, Thad’s name was on the birth certificate, not Louis’s. Not to mention the boy was born on an airbase.”

“Airbase?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“Well, you don't think American diplomats' wives usually give birth in little religious hospitals in the middle of nowhere, do you?” Crowley explained. “Which means, the boy was born on American soil to American parents.”

“But you said Louis wasn’t an American.”

“He isn’t.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Thad decided to have a paternity test done to settle things. He and Louis went to the hospital. We had to wait for the results for a few days. As it turned out, Louis _wasn’t_ the father after all. Never was. I dropped the child I had all but raised for the last six years off at school that morning, Harriet got the results a few hours later, and when I went to pick him up that afternoon, they were already gone.”

Crowley’s eyes had gone red-rimmed and glassy.

“Didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.” Crowley looked miserable. “Neither of us did. Never saw him again, not outside of pictures on the internet.”

“He looks happy, at least,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m glad he’s happy, but it hurts, too.” Crowley curled up against Aziraphale, phone still in hand.

“Why does it hurt?”

Crowley smiled as his chin made an attempt to quiver. “I don’t get to be a part of that anymore.” He continued to look at the photo on the screen. “I haven’t heard him laugh in years. I keep trying to remember it, but at some point, it started sounding like my own in my head. I don’t… Don’t remember quite when that happened.” Crowley’s face tightened into a frown as he put the phone down.

Aziraphale shifted to make room to pull Crowley into his lap, placing a kiss on top of his head. “I’m so sorry to hear it,” he said, rubbing soothing circles along Crowley’s upper arm. 

“I know it would sound different now, anyway, what with him being older. But I just wish I could hear it again, or for the first time, or whatever it would be.”

Aziraphale had a thought. “I don’t mean to pry, but is he the same child that—”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, fishing his wallet out to retrieve the photo, handing it to Aziraphale. He settled his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “I’ve never told anybody about this before. I know it’s a lot.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re already doing it, Angel,” Crowley said, letting out a deep breath that he felt he had been holding for the last four years.

Aziraphale brought the post in as he walked through the door. Flipping through, he came across a bright orange envelope. With a look of concern on his face, he quickly opened it. It was an invitation to a Halloween party. Peeking around to make sure he was alone, he ripped it into several pieces, tucked them into another empty envelope, and hid them at the bottom of the recycle bin next to his desk.

It was already dark when Aziraphale walked into the flat. It was a cold November evening, but the lanky body pacing around in front of him, wearing nothing but one of his blue button-down shirts, warmed his heart and brought a smile to his face.

“It’s about time,” Crowley said as Aziraphale closed and locked the door behind him.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Am I late for something?”

“No, not in the grand scheme of things,” Crowley grinned.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Maybe it’s best if I show you. It’s in the bedroom. Go look.”

Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows with a sigh. It wasn’t _unusual_ for Crowley to act strange, but it was, well, _strange_ , he supposed. Crowley followed him down the hallway into the bedroom.

Aziraphale looked around before turning to face Crowley. “I don’t see whatever it is you wanted me to find.”

Crowley quickly pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. “That’s because all of these clothes you have on are in the way,” he said, quickly setting his hands to unbuttoning buttons and unzipping zippers and unshirting shirts, untrousering trousers and unpanting pants.

“What’s gotten into you?” Aziraphale laughed with amazed delight.

Crowley waggled his eyebrows, handing Aziraphale a tube of lube. He leaned over him, tracing his tongue up from Aziraphale’s clavicle to his ear. “You, if you hurry up and get me ready for you,” he whispered.

Crowley continued to lavish attention to Aziraphale’s throat, jaw, and eventually his lips while Aziraphale’s fingers worked him open. When Aziraphale made to flip him over, Crowley shook his head. “Mm-mm,” he negated. “I’m driving. You’re just my ride.”

Any remaining blood circulating in Aziraphale’s body suddenly migrated definitively downward.

Crowley grinned, biting his bottom lip as he positioned himself above Aziraphale, sliding down slowly. He sat still for a moment, adjusting to the delightful stretch with a soft hum of appeasement. He leaned back against Aziraphale’s bent knees, looking down into his lover’s eyes. With a quirk of his lip, he smiled at Aziraphale. “So how was your day?”

“It was all right,” Aziraphale smiled back at how utterly ridiculous and wonderful this sort of small talk was while he was seated fully inside of Crowley. “It seems to have taken a turn for the better recently, of course.”

“How nice for you,” Crowley growled playfully as he began to swivel his hips, still leaning back. He reached his hands out expectantly towards Aziraphale’s hands. When their fingers intertwined, Crowley pulled himself forward to sit up, rocking his hips more forcefully now. He ran his tongue along his lower lip while looking down at the angel between his legs. He had never wanted someone the way he wanted Aziraphale. He had never _felt_ wanted by anyone the way he felt wanted by Aziraphale, either. The reciprocity was nice, he thought. It didn’t hurt that he found Aziraphale’s softness as sexy as his strength. There was something primal and comforting in that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he fully intended to leave many fingerprints, along with lip, teeth, and tongue tracks, all across that glorious angel’s body trying to find it.

Crowley leaned forward, hips still working, to nip at Aziraphale’s neck gently. Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s sides to grip at his slender hips, and the nip became a sweetly-humming nuzzle.

Aziraphale loved the way Crowley’s body went near limp and pliant at his touch, his hips rocking and chest heaving. Every touch and caress Aziraphale made traveled to his vocal cords in a variety of soft whines and loud cries as he let himself completely surrender.

Aziraphale had many partners in the past, but none were ever as open and free with him as Crowley was now. He never felt as wanted or as skilled with anyone else, not even with Raphael, which was saying a lot.

Crowley lifted himself back upright, letting out a loud moan at the sensation as Aziraphale shifted inside him.

There was a loud banging coming from the wall.

“ _Fuck off_ , Shadwell!” Aziraphale bellowed, tightening his grip on Crowley’s hips. Crowley rarely initiated things without some sort of catalyst, and he had _never_ before taken the lead. Crowley had come so far with allowing himself to experience, and actually _enjoy_ , his own sexuality. Aziraphale was not about to let some rude interloper interfere with that.

Aziraphale was so distracted by how much he was enjoying the way his shirt looked falling off of Crowley’s shoulder as he rocked back and forth above him that he almost missed the tell-tale flush as it crept down Crowley’s throat to his chest. Almost, but not quite. Suddenly emboldened, he thrust upward forcibly, pulling a loud, strangled moan from deep within Crowley’s throat.

“Oh, holy fuck, Angel, do that again,” Crowley begged, closing his eyes and gripping his hands along Aziraphale’s wrists. He moved one of Aziraphale’s hands from his hip to wrap around his cock, already weeping, ready for release. He let go, arching his back and gripping at Aziraphale’s thighs behind him to ride out the cresting wave of the bucking angel beneath him.

Aziraphale could feel every single muscle in Crowley’s body that was pressed against his own skin flex and clench around him. It was the perfect amount of _everything_ to send him tumbling to follow Crowley into his own bliss. It was incredible to him how so many little things about Crowley brought him to completion so readily.

He never had that in the past. It was always a long chase to reach the end, almost a trial to overcome. He didn’t always get there with some partners, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. With Raphael, it was _going_ to happen, but it took some effort.

With Crowley, it surprised him what ultimately brought him over the edge. It might be the drape of red hair, a flash of skin, a whiff of perfumed apples and roses, a broken vocalization of his name, or simply the pet name he had grown to adore. Sometimes all it took to bring Aziraphale to completion was seeing that blush-blossom flush against Crowley’s alabaster chest, heralding his partner’s own satisfaction. Knowing he brought his partner, his _love_ , that joy, it was intoxicating and addictive. He felt as if he had finally found the missing piece to the puzzle that was his entire existence.

Crowley remained still on top, legs clenched at Aziraphale’s sides. Strands of red were sweat-stuck along his face, eyes shut tight as he tried to catch his breath.

“You are so beautiful,” Aziraphale sighed wistfully. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“A few times,” Crowley replied, chest still heaving. “But I don’t think I ever believed it until I heard it from you.”

> **I’m already here.  
>  Where are you?**
> 
> **Running late  
>  I know how you get  
>  Go ahead and have  
>  a nibble if you’re  
> ** **peckish  
>  I’ll be along soon  
>  ❤️💛❤️💛  
> **
> 
> **😍😍😍**

Aziraphale smiled as he put his phone back in his pocket. He had made plans to have dinner with Crowley at their favorite sushi restaurant for their anniversary. Well, one of them, anyway. They had multiples of both, after all. This favorite sushi restaurant was the one with all of the plants and green vines along the walls. It amused Aziraphale to no end when Crowley hissed and cursed at them every time his hair got caught in the leaves when he forgot himself and leaned back against the wall while waiting to be seated. And as for this anniversary, it was the one-year mark of Crowley officially moving in.

Aziraphale placed an order for tea and a sushi roll. His thoughts meandered, as they often did, towards Crowley.

He could barely believe that it had only been March of last year that Crowley first came into his life. Though they had only known one another for a few months shy of two years, it felt like they had been together forever.

Aziraphale smiled as he heard someone walk up next to him.

 _Crowley_.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aziraphale whipped his head around in shock. “Gabe? What an unexpected pleasure,” he lied, like a liar. “I thought you were still in the US.”

“It's been quite a while, yes. We’ve been pretty busy this past year and some change over there, but we’re back now.” He looked at the food in front of Aziraphale. “Why do you consume that?” Gabe pointed with disgust at Aziraphale’s plate.

“It's sushi. It's nice.”

Gabe made a sour face.

“You dip it in soy sauce,” Aziraphale said mindlessly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check how long it had been since Crowley texted.

“Expecting someone?” Gabe asked

“Well, as a matter of fact—”

“So, you’ve finally got a girl, then?” Gabe grinned with far too many teeth showing.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Aziraphale said, smiling nervously.

Gabe cocked his head to the side to look condescendingly at Aziraphale. “You know, a single man of your age, it doesn’t look good.”

“You’re single as well, and less than two years younger than me.”

“I’m a bachelor! It’s fine when you’re still out having a good time. I don’t mean you have to settle down. But people might start to think the wrong thing about you if you don’t put yourself out there more.”

“The… Wrong thing?” Aziraphale asked, eyes narrowing.

“You know…” Gabe’s eyebrows raised as he waved his wrist limply.

“Tea?” Aziraphale offered, desperate to change the subject.

Gabe sniffed at the cup and scrunched up his face. “I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with _gross matter_.”

“Obviously not,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Gabe looked at Aziraphale before breaking into a grin and giving him a punch on the shoulder. “I’m just messing with you.” He snapped his fingers towards the first staff member he saw. “Can I get a Pepsi over here? Maybe something that has _actually_ been cooked?” He nudged at Aziraphale’s plate. “Is there even anything that _isn’t_ raw at a sushi place?”

Aziraphale groaned internally when he realized Gabe wasn’t leaving. “There is nothing raw on that plate. Sushi doesn’t mean raw fish. It’s the rice preparation. You’re thinking of sashimi,” Aziraphale said as he pulled out his phone to quickly send a text off to Crowley.

> **Plans have  
>  changed.  
>  Meet at home later.**

Aziraphale noticed the soft cashmere of Gabe’s suit as he took off his coat and scarf to sit down. “Nice suit.”

“Yes, I like the clothes,” Gabe looked down, smiling at his own. He cut a glance up and down Aziraphale. “You might, too.”

Aziraphale looked at Gabe with a blend of irritation and mild confusion when his phone vibrated.

> **Is something wrong?  
>  I was just now omw**

“We have reliable information that things are afoot,” Gabe said, watching Aziraphale with interest.

“They are?” Aziraphale was barely paying attention as he replied to Crowley.

> **Gabe is here.  
>  I’ll be home as   
>  soon as I can  
>  get away from   
>  him.**

“Yes,” Gabe continued, trying to peek at Aziraphale’s phone screen.

> **Gabe is a wanker.  
>  Do you need me to  
>  come rescue you?**
> 
> **No, thank you.  
>  I need you to stay  
>  away. I’ll handle  
>  this. 😍  
> **   
>    
> 

“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t _really_ care other than keeping up appearances.

“One of my people is on maternity leave, and she’s thinking of perhaps not returning to work,” Gabe explained. “But even if she _does_ , she’s probably going to telecommute part-time. That’s going to leave a field sales position open. I had planned to talk to you about it when you come over to Dad’s for Christmas, but I saw your car and thought I’d let you know a position might be opening soon.”

“Gabe, I’ve told you, I’m not interested.”

Though Aziraphale was not lying about not wanting to work with Gabe, he wasn’t entirely telling the truth about his interest in the company. Aziraphale’s step-father worked in publishing, and had been offering him job after job for over 20 years. He could have had his pick of anything. Review, proofreading, editing, writing, ghost-writing, anything he could think of, he could have had, no questions asked.

When he had first been approached about it, Aziraphale had been ecstatic. It was what he wanted more than anything. Books were his passion. It was only natural that he would have jumped at the chance to work with them when given the opportunity. His mother’s fiancé had wanted him to start right away. Aziraphale had opted to continue with university, with the intention of working out a plan for classes that would coincide with his ultimate goals within the company. Once his classes were settled, he was to take a part-time apprenticeship until he finished school and could go to work full-time.

It was like a weight had been lifted from his soul. That was the first time Aziraphale had felt like maybe his life was going to turn out okay after his attack. He found himself looking forward to the future instead of looking over his shoulder. He was _ready_ to get back to his life again, and this time it was going to be better than he ever thought it would be.

Gabe was already shadowing his father, being groomed to run the company someday. His soon-to-be step-father explained that he wanted to have Gabe work with him, together, and they could learn the ins and outs of the business before they both settled into their preferred areas. The plan was that, based on the existing aptitudes, Gabe would handle sales, marketing, and launches, and Aziraphale would handle the actual selection and editing processes. It was everything Aziraphale had dreamed of, career-wise.

Everything changed when he met Gabe, officially, at the wedding.


	17. Every Saint Has A Past and Every Sinner Has A Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever happens,” he hugged Aziraphale reassuringly, “None of that matters as long as we’re together at the end of the day.”  
>   
> Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a smile on his face. “You’re right.”  
>   
>   
> He wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It begins..._
> 
> CW for homophobic slurs and discussion of violence.
> 
> Music for this chapter is [I Can't Help Falling In Love With You, cover by Boyce Avenue.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0WTFfZqjz0)

There was a knock at the door. Crowley opened it to find a package. He crouched down to pick it up, noticing Tracy standing in her doorway with a mischievous look in her eye. She gave him a wink and a knowing smile, then slipped back inside of her flat.

“Did you order this?” Crowley asked, going to sit down next to Aziraphale.

He shook his head.

Crowley ripped open the package. He pulled out what appeared to be a rubber ball with straps. “What the…” He began, confused.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as he blushed, recognizing the ball gag immediately.

Crowley fished the slip out of the box to read the gift note:

> **_Compromise?  
>  Happy Christmas, lads  
>  <3 Tracy_ **

“What’s that look?” Crowley asked. “You know something. What is this thing?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “How old are you?”

Crowley stared at him, ball gag in hand. “Apparently not old enough to know what a ball with straps is.” His eyes went wide. “Oooooh!”

Aziraphale laughed out loud as Crowley realized what he was holding and why.

“That’s, it, this is, er, it’s—” Crowley quickly dropped it back in the box as if it were on fire.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, smiling contentedly while pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. “You are adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Obviously.”

“So,” Aziraphale began, closing the door and leading Crowley to the tree. “What would you say to some cocoa and a long winter’s nap?”

As had become their tradition, they woke up a few hours after midnight, but early enough before dawn that it was still dark out.

“It Critmis,” Crowley scrunched up his nose. “Shall we open some presents?”

“Let’s shall,” Aziraphale laughed, once more ignoring old traditions to embrace the new ones he was creating with Crowley.

The flurry of wrapping paper and ribbons once again became a competition to see who could stick the most bows on the other without them falling off. Aziraphale handed Crowley a wide, flat box, wrapped in dark blue paper with a white bow.

Opening it carefully, Crowley beamed. He pulled out a multi-colored knit scarf, wrapping it around his neck as he kept pulling out length upon length of the technicolored monstrosity. “Does it have an end at all? How did it all fit inside of this blue box?”

Aziraphale smiled happily. “I can assure you, it does have an end. Though it did take me quite some time to make it.”

Crowley’s face shifted from amusement to adoration. “You made this? For me?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“When did you have the time?”

“I’ve been working on it off and on for the past year,” Aziraphale explained. “That’s why the sections are all such different sizes and colors. I worked as long as I could when no one was looking.”

“Oh, Angel, I love it. Thank you so much,” Crowley said, leaning over to squeeze him tightly and kiss all over his face. He sat back almost as quickly as he leaned forward, grabbing a small box wrapped in white paper with red hearts and a gold ribbon. He handed it to Aziraphale. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I couldn’t find any Christmas wrap when I brought this home.” He began to fidget a bit. “It’s not homemade, like yours, but it _is_ personalized.”

Aziraphale carefully opened the package to find a wooden box with a gold-leaf halo embossed on the top. Opening it, he found a pale blue velvet pouch. He opened the pouch and slid a gold pocket watch into the palm of his hand. The top cover was richly embellished with a pair of wings and a halo. Aziraphale traced his fingers over the design, beaming.

“Open it, Angel,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale carefully pushed the button to release the top. There was an inscription on the inside.

_“Every saint has a past, and  
every sinner has a future”  
You gave me mine  
I love you  
My Angel_

“Is it all right?” Crowley asked, his eyes hopeful.

Aziraphale sniffled with a slight laugh and wiped his eyes. “It’s wonderful, my dear. Thank you so much. I love it. And I love you.” He reached his arms out to bring Crowley into an embrace.

The two sat holding one another, enjoying just being there, together, in one another’s arms.

Crowley glanced from the time on the open pocket watch to the clock on the wall. “What time was Michael coming to pick you up this morning?”

“Should be around 10:00,” Aziraphale replied, still delicately tracing his fingers along the inscription inside of the watch.

“Ah, that’s not as early as I thought,” Crowley said.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No, no. That’s _good_ ,” Crowley said, leaning into Aziraphale to snuggle up against the back of his neck. “Gives me more time to spend with you now so I don’t have to miss you as much while you’re away.”

“I’m so sorry you can’t come with me, but it’s family only. Now you _know_ that _you’re_ my family, too, but with Gabe being there… You don’t want to get Gabriel upset with you. Uriel doesn’t even go.”

Crowley could feel Aziraphale tensing up. “Angel, hey, calm down,” Crowley soothed. “I get it. I’m not upset. Besides, gives me an excuse to busk like I used to do on Christmas. Most times, I end up making twice as much, or more, on Christmas day.” Crowley gave a conspiratorial smile, leaning in to rub Aziraphale gently on the arm. “And sometimes there’s even candy canes, chocolate coins, and a few satsumas in the case, too. By the time I’m done, it looks like someone upturned a stocking in there.”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even _want_ to go,” Aziraphale said, leaning back against Crowley beneath the tree.

“Hmm? I thought you were looking forward to it,” Crowley said.

“Well, I suppose part of me is, a bit. I haven’t seen my mother in so long. But Gabe will be there, and you know how I feel about that.” Aziraphale snuggled in as long, slender arms wrapped around him. “I’d much rather stay home with you.”

“Whatever happens,” Crowley hugged Aziraphale reassuringly, “None of that matters as long as we’re together at the end of the day.”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a smile on his face. “You’re right.”

Aziraphale still felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt over leaving Crowley alone for Christmas. To make up for it, he spent the next several hours jingling Crowley’s bells and decking his halls in every room of the flat until just before he needed to get ready to leave.

Michael smiled brightly as Crowley opened the door. “Happy Christmas, Crowley.”

“Happy Christmas, Michael!” Crowley grinned, flipping his ridiculously long scarf end back over his shoulder exaggeratedly. “Do come in.”

She smiled in return, walking past him to sit on the couch. “Nice scarf,” she remarked. “You look like the Doctor.”

“Who?” Crowley smirked cheekily.

Michael rolled her eyes with a grin.

“Angel!” Crowley called out towards the back of the flat. “Your sister has come to collect you and take you to the tediously _boring_ family dinner I’m not invited to attend.” He gave a wink at Michael before she could protest.

“I’ve _told_ you, Crowley. It’s not that you weren’t invited. It’s that you aren’t…”

“Invited?” Crowley grinned, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist to pull him close.

“You are up to no good.”

“Obviously.” He leaned in close to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. “You’re still going to unwrap me later, then?”

Aziraphale tilted his head to kiss Crowley’s lips. “Patience, my dear, is a virtue.”

“Patience is _your_ virtue, Angel. Sins are _mine_.”

When Michael and Aziraphale arrived at their mother’s house, they were surprised to find that Gabe had brought along Sandy, his best friend who co-headed the sales team.

“ _We_ can’t bring anyone, but _Gabe_ gets to bring his _pet_ and let it sit at the table like it’s _people_?” Aziraphale muttered to Michael under his breath, eliciting an amused snort in return.

Aziraphale’s mother noticed a long, straight, dark red hair on Aziraphale’s shoulder when he took off his coat. “Oh? What’s this, then?” She said, pulling the hair off to hold it up.

“I bet he’s hiding a girl.” Gabe remarked, elbowing Aziraphale a little too roughly.

“Oh, I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong idea,” Aziraphale replied, rubbing his arm. “I hugged Michael when she came to pick me up. That’s all,” he smiled nervously.

“Of course,” She said, still holding the hair between her fingers. She could plainly see it was longer and darker of a red than Michael’s own hair, which was tightly pinned, curled, and sprayed into place. She watched Aziraphale with careful eyes as he walked into the living room to greet his step-father.

Christmas dinner was as lovely as it could be. The food was delicious, as always, and the conversation especially stilted and uncomfortable. It was, in most ways, the perfectly average family dinner, plus one _friend_ slash _coworker_ slash _awkward conversation in a camelhair suit and gold teeth_. Afterwards, they took tea in the sitting room, which had been decked out in gold, silver, and red, matching the decorations on the toweringly tall Christmas tree.

His mother and her husband had gone into the kitchen to tidy things up and pack up leftovers for all of the kids. He chuckled to himself. It amused him, being considered a middle-aged kid. The smile on his face dropped as he caught view of something sparkling out of the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the pin bent around the edge of one of the flaps on Gabe’s satchel. It was an antique sterling silver marcasite snake, identical to the one remaining in Crowley’s hair the night he was attacked. Aziraphale thought he could see what looked like a speck of blood dried between the pave stones.

His own blood ran cold, but he remained calm.

“That’s quite an intriguing decoration you have there, Gabe.”

“Oh, this?” Gabe pointed to the pin. “Yeah, I thought it looked pretty interesting.”

“It’s a trophy,” Sandy added with a smirk.

“Where did you get it?” Aziraphale asked with perfect civility.

Gabe grinned. “Sandy and I picked it up off of some queer with yellow demon eyes. No shit, they were like, yellow and the pupils weren’t round. Scary as fuck.”

“Yellow demon eyes, you say?” Aziraphale remembered Crowley had used that exact phrase shortly after getting out of the hospital. “And this… person, they just _gave_ it to you?” Aziraphale asked, still staring at the dried up dark red between the jewels on the pin.

“Not _willingly_ ,” Gabe replied, sharing a look with Sandy. “What did you end up doing with him after that, anyway?”

“Oh, I was going to take him down to some water to cap off the evening, but something came up,” Sandy replied, picking a bit of food out from next to one of his gold teeth as if what he was saying was casual after-dinner conversation. “Dropped him off at a dumpster with the rest of the rubbish out behind that American diner before I could get that far.”

Michael, who hadn’t been fully paying attention to the conversation, instead taking pictures of the holiday decorations with her phone, noticed how still Aziraphale had become. She inhaled sharply when she saw the pin and had processed what was being said. Realizing what Aziraphale had already figured out, she looked sadly between her brother and step brother as she sat down next to Aziraphale.

“The dumpster?” Gabe snickered.

Sandy shrugged. “Why not?”

“Az works there. You can’t just do something like that where my brother works.”

“Step-brother,” Aziraphale corrected, his voice hollow. “And it’s Aziraphale.”

“Eh, labels,” Gabe said. “I still think you should quit that place and come to work for dad. I’ll make sure you’re working under me at head office. Or maybe even open up an office over in Soho. Dad’s been talking about that possibility.”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale replied quietly. Now wasn’t the time to get into the discussion of why he refused the jobs his step-father had been offering him for over twenty years, especially not when the reasons why were sitting right in front of him.

“Suit yourself,” Gabe shrugged. “Anyway, that fag might still be in the area."

Aziraphale's fist clenched beneath Michael's hand.

"Not if he knows what's good for him," Sandy laughed darkly.

Gabe tilted his head with a shrug. "If you see a tall red-haired weirdo with a snake tattooed on his face, you let us know. We told him he’d regret it if we saw him again.”

“Or if he called the police,” Sandy added.

“Why are you telling me this?” Aziraphale asked, finally looking away from the pin. He could hardly believe how casual and relaxed they were talking about it. Michael quietly slipped Aziraphale's hand into hers.

“We’re family!” Gabe said, surprised that Aziraphale would question it at all. “We protect one another. I know you won’t say anything about it. That's what family does. We watch out for each other. And I’m serious, Az…iraphale,” Gabe caught himself, for once making a conscious effort to correct his own mistake. ”You let us know if he bothers, you, Aziraphale. Like I said, we’ve dealt with him before. If he so much as _looks_ at you, we’ll take care of it so no one will ever have to see him again. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Aziraphale’s cheek twitched slightly, stopping the strained smile on his face from reaching his eyes.

Aziraphale was in a fog through the rest of the gathering. He essentially stood wherever Michael placed him, barely registering that photographs were being taken of the group of them together. When it was time to leave, he quietly followed her to the car.

“Did you want me to take you home now?” Michael asked as they buckled their safety belts.

“Hmm?” He barely registered that he was being spoken to at first. Once his processing caught up, he responded. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can yet.”

“We’ll stop by my place first, then. Is that all right?”

He nodded and she started the car.

“I might need to…” Aziraphale scrubbed his hand down his face. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Can I stay here, with you two, for a little while?”

“Of course,” Michael said immediately, squeezing his hand. “Do you have any idea of how long you might need? I could get you something more comfortable to sleep on than a lumpy couch.”

“Not sure…” He said, looking down. “Not fair, is it? What I… What I have to do, I mean. Or any of it, really.”

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to,” Uriel began. “But I have to ask, are you _sure_ this is the right thing to do? It wouldn't change anything, Aziraphale.”

Michael furrowed her brows and shot a sad look towards her partner, shaking her head. “You weren’t there, Uriel. You didn’t hear what they said.” She wasn’t sure why she was defending this decision. She _hated_ it. It was an impulse to back Aziraphale up, she supposed, but it unsettled her to do so here, again.

Aziraphale, still not looking up from the floor, swallowed dryly. “They’ll kill him, Uriel. They will. They almost did it before. When they couldn’t dump him in the pond, they just…” His voice broke. Memories of the moonlit night they first held one another, fully sober and aware, came crashing down around him. It was in that same water, water that held their secret wishes and dreams, that had almost been where Crowley would have taken his last breath. Aziraphale couldn’t help but remember the blank spaces on the hospital form, wondering if anyone would have even gone looking for him had he ended up at the bottom of the pond. He had been the only one to visit Crowley in the hospital. It was physically painful for him to think about.

The joy he found in the pond was forever tainted. He pressed his palm against his mouth, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath to keep himself together. “They threw him away. If I hadn’t found him when I did…” Breathing in a stuttering breath, he clenched his teeth, face contorting into a grimace. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and into his lap like rain as he quietly balled up his fists. “I have to hurt him now so they don’t hurt him _more_.”

Michael looked at him sadly. She _liked_ Crowley. He was so good for Aziraphale. Crowley made him better, more like he used to be before he hid himself away. She really thought this one would have lasted. Michael was going to miss Crowley. She was going to miss her little brother’s smile, too.

She remembered the first time it had happened, that Aziraphale had made the decision to end things with someone. That first one, that was when he closed his heart off for the first time. That was the worst of them. Well, until now, anyway. She didn’t think Aziraphale would come back from this one. It took him twenty years to actually allow himself to be happy and not just go through the motions. Not that Aziraphale had been particularly forthcoming about any of the relationships in between. She mostly heard about them after the fact. Aziraphale had only ever intentionally introduced her to two of his partners, the first and the last. The few she had met in between had been accidental. The fact that Aziraphale had not only brought up introducing Crowley to her on his own, but had been _excited_ to do so, was _huge_. It had been so nice while it lasted.

She had often wondered, as the years passed, whatever happened to Raphael after everything. She could barely remember him, it had been so long, but at one time, she had considered him a friend. It hurt when he was no longer in her life. But, she supposed, when Raphael moved away shortly after the break-up, it was inevitable that they’d never cross paths again.

Michael hoped she would get to see Crowley again, for many reasons. He felt like family, like he belonged there. He filled a space she hadn’t even realized had been vacant in her own life, not just Aziraphale’s. There was a joy in being able to talk with someone who knew her brother as well as she did, though in different ways and aspects. Michael had truly enjoyed getting to know Crowley over the past year since meeting him last Christmas. She had enjoyed getting to know her little brother all over again as well. She hoped she wouldn’t lose this version of Aziraphale, too.

She wouldn’t be a simple bystander again, not now, not when he had come this far. She had to say _something_.

“So, you’re going to end things and never see him again, are you?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale was too shocked by her question to form a response.

“Is this just what you do, then, do you think?” Michael blinked for impact. “You let someone get close and then cast them aside?”

“Michael,” Uriel’s eyes widened as she reached towards her partner.

“No, he needs to hear this,” Michael said, gently pushing Uriel’s hands back down. “This isn’t the first time he’s made a decision like this.” Michael turned her attention back towards her brother. “This is what you did to Raphael, Aziraphale.”

“How dare you,” Aziraphale glared at her. “That was _different_ , and you _know_ it.”

“Was it? You were afraid, and you sent him away. Don’t you ever wonder about him, Aziraphale? Don’t you ever wonder what happened to him?”

Aziraphale stilled slightly, but did not respond or look at her. He hadn’t told her that they had gotten back together, in their own way. He hadn’t let Raphael back into that part of his life. He hadn’t intentionally let _anyone_ into that part of his life in the past twenty-one years but Crowley. It wasn’t that he _didn’t want_ Raphael there so much as he was especially _eager_ to make the room for Crowley. There was a difference, somehow.

There _was_.

“I liked him, too. And I miss _him_ , too.” Michael tilted her head with a pained expression. “You know, it isn’t just _you_ this affects.”

“I’m _dreadfully_ sorry that the schisms in _my_ life are difficult for _you_ ,” Aziraphale said with icy sarcasm.

“As a matter of fact, they are,” Michael replied, her eyes widening. “And you need to understand that. You are making decisions for other people. You made a decision to close yourself off, and Raphael paid the price.” Aziraphale visibly cringed at her words. “And now you’re doing that to Crowley, and you won’t even tell him why.”

“Raphael _knew_ why. He understood, mostly.” Aziraphale faltered slightly before regaining a bit of his composure. “Even though he didn’t think it was my fault he got hurt, he knew it was for our own good. Though the landscape is different this time, my reasons were just as valid then as they are now.”

Michael lifted her eyebrows in question. “What good does that do for Crowley?”

Aziraphale was thrown off by the question. “What?”

“Why, precisely, is it going to matter that you had your reasons if _he_ never knows what those reasons are? What is that going to do for him? Where is the comfort in that?”

“Where is the comfort in knowing someone wants to kill you, Michael?” Aziraphale’s voice raised. “Isn’t it better for him to hate me than to live in constant fear? I can’t let someone else get hurt, or in this case killed, because of me. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“But you can do _this_ to him?” She asked, pointedly.

“ _For_ him, Michael.” A tear rolled down Aziraphale’s cheek. “This is _for_ him. I _have_ to do this. I love him too much not to.”

And there it was. Michael thought on how Aziraphale kept their own mother at arm’s length, letting her believe he didn’t care rather than risk her rejecting him. It made her so sad to see him shrink away from everyone and everything he once held so dear just because he had convinced himself there was no other way. It was a miracle he had been as open with Michael as he had over the years, she thought.

Aziraphale had become so skilled at closing certain parts of himself off around different people that Michael didn’t even realize he hadn’t been open with her at all. He wanted to be, but that would have meant opening himself back up to a great many things and feelings, and he wasn’t prepared to do that on anyone else’s terms. It had thrown him off of his game when Crowley cracked him open down the center and climbed inside. The only things he hadn’t told Crowley were the things he simply hadn’t thought to say, which was still a lot, as it had become habit to keep things to himself. Well, _almost_ the only things, anyway. There was one topic that he refused to speak of with anyone, other than Michael, and they had only discussed it once.

He wrote what he couldn’t or wouldn’t speak into his books where they would live on as the stories he was too afraid to share. They were the framework, the base matter that had made up his entire life. In his books, he fixed things. He set right what was wrong or otherwise difficult. Sometimes he found the inspiration in his writing that he needed to enact changes in his own life. The answers were _always_ in the book. It’s just sometimes he didn’t see them until afterwards.

“ _If_ you loved him, you _wouldn’t_ do this,” Michael spoke with quiet determination.

Aziraphale’s voice was sharp with icy venom. “Do you honestly think this is easy for me? It isn’t your decision, Michael. It’s _my_ life.”

“ _Crowley_ is your life, Aziraphale. Anyone who has spent any time with the two of you can see that. You’re making a mistake.” She reached for his hand, not stopping even when he flinched, and held it between her own.

“It’s _my_ mistake to make,” Aziraphale said, his eyes both angry and forlorn as he pulled his hand back.

“If I weren’t afraid you’d cut _me_ out of your life as a result, I’d be tempted to tell him myself,” Michael remarked sadly.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed with sorrow. “You won’t,” Aziraphale replied softly. “On either account.”

“No, I suppose I won’t,” she agreed, looking away.

“You are my sister, and I love you,” Aziraphale reassured her. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” Aziraphale explained.

Michael tilted her head partially back towards Aziraphale, speaking quietly but with impact. “But you would to him?”

“That’s different. Can’t you see? Gabe has been turning up _everywhere_ since he got back from the states. It’s a miracle he hasn’t spotted Crowley and I together already.” Aziraphale looked at her imploringly. “Crowley is in danger just being _near_ me.”

Michael sighed sadly. “I disagree with you, Aziraphale, but you’re right that it’s your life. I only hope you’re truly taking into consideration that it’s Crowley’s life, too.”

“ _His life_ is the entire reason I _have_ to do this, Michael,” he said quietly. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Michael wrapped an arm around his shoulder. In spite of everything, she would be there for him to support whatever he decided, even if that decision was, she thought, a terrible mistake. They sat together in silence for several minutes.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Michael asked softly, stroking Aziraphale’s hair.

“It isn’t. But I don’t have a choice. Needs must.”

“He made you so happy, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily against Michael’s shoulder. “I know. He was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me.”

She pressed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m going to miss him.”

Aziraphale’s words were all but lost as his breath hitched and he buried his face into her shoulder. “Me, too.”

On the drive back to his flat, Aziraphale made a request that Michael stop first at Covent Garden.

“If you’re having second thoughts, Aziraphale, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I do, Michael. I _have_ to do this. If I don’t…” His face was full of fear. “I can’t have this discussion with you again.” He leaned his head back against the seat, looking out the window at the scenery passing by. “I just want to see him play, one last time, before everything changes.”

Once they got there, Aziraphale found Crowley easily. He was bundled up, looking positively adorable in the ridiculously long multi-colored scarf as he sauntered around while he played his guitar. It sent a jolt through Aziraphale’s heart. The next time Aziraphale would see him would be the end.

_Wise men say only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you  
Shall I stay, would it be a sin  
If I can't help falling in love with you?_

The joy and affection in Crowley’s voice warmed the crowd that had formed around him. It was addictive, pulling more and more people in to listen. His case was full and his heart was fuller. He was _happy_ , and it was evident to anyone within the vicinity.

When he noticed Aziraphale in the crowd, he smiled serenely. Aziraphale returned the smile with a watery one of his own.

_Take my hand, take my whole life too  
For I can't help falling in love with you_

Warm eyes filled with adoration, love, and contentment locked with Aziraphale’s own as Crowley sang the last line directly to his angel.

  
_Oh, for I can't help falling in love with you_

Crowley never even saw it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on Saturday.


	18. But Wherefore Thou Alone? Wherefore With Thee Came Not All Hell Broke Loose?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation no one wanted or needed, yet somehow still had to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are  
> P!nk [ Don’t Believe You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26EP0ght2kI)  
> P!nk [ Nobody Knows ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_l4pa0IkOo)  
> Sara Bareilles [ Breathe Again ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGFId40jc2w)  
>   
> The title of this chapter comes from Paradise Lost, by John Milton.

Once Michael dropped him off at home, Aziraphale waited for Crowley to return. He paced around, talking to himself. It would have been so much simpler if he thought he could simply contact the police and make everything better. But reality doesn’t always work that way, not without enough evidence or proof.

“If I go to the police, what evidence do I have? Nothing that couldn’t be dismissed as circumstantial.” Aziraphale _hated_ that concept. If the _circumstance_ was that it _happened_ , how could he _prove_ that? He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends in frustration. “Even the blood on the pin. We could prove it was Crowley’s blood, of course, but there’s no way to _prove_ how Gabe got it. He could simply say he found it on the street, for all I know. And if it _did_ get dismissed, what then? Or what if one were convicted, but not the other? They’d _know_ , and if even one of them were left loose, they’d come after him, and probably me. I can’t… Can’t be responsible for that. I can’t put either of us through that.”

It would paint a target on Crowley’s back even larger than the one there is now, he thought, and proximity to Aziraphale would simply spotlight a path directly to Crowley.

Aziraphale carried so much guilt with him, even now, over what happened to Raphael. In his heart, he knew that Crowley would put himself in harm’s way the same as Raphael did, if he thought for a second there was any risk to ‘ _his angel_.’ Crowley might try to protect himself better if it were only him, but even if the danger wasn’t directed at Aziraphale at all, he thought, Crowley would likely stare it down and get himself killed in the process. Aziraphale shuddered and bit his lip remembering the look on Raphael’s face that Halloween night so long ago. Aziraphale couldn’t put anyone through that, or worse, again.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? Safer, he thought, to keep him away. “He’ll hate me, and I’ll _deserve_ it, but he’ll be _alive_ to do it,” he whispered to himself.

Aziraphale knew he wasn’t being completely rational, but he was terrified and overwhelmed. And it’s not like people hadn’t gotten away with hurting people like them before. It has been happening ever since there were people who didn’t accept other people. He had read about it in the papers enough just during his own lifetime to know that justice could only do so much with circumstantial evidence. That sort of thing happened far too often, even when people _had_ what they needed to create a case against someone. He needed a plan, but that was going to take time. Time, unfortunately, was not a commodity he had much of lately.

Aziraphale was, surprisingly, less concerned about himself now than he had been before. Once he had begun to be more open with Crowley, after his own infernal cock-up during Raphael’s last visit, he found he felt so much lighter. He was less burdened, and it felt _right_. Before he learned of Gabe and Sandy’s involvement in Crowley’s attack, he had considered how to speak with his mother privately, to test the waters, as it were. If that went well, he had intended to come out to her, and, based on her reaction, discuss Crowley’s role in his life.

And once _again_ , Gabe got in the way.

It might have been different if Gabe were headed back to the states right after this, but he was going to _be_ there, for at least the next few months to get things ready for an upcoming book launch and subsequent tour. Aziraphale’s stepfather usually handled the UK business while Gabe stayed in the US, but now that he was trying to retire, Gabe was a lot more active in the London area as well. It didn’t help matters at all that Gabe had been surprising him by popping up around places he thought Aziraphale might be to try to get him to finally agree to work with them. What Aziraphale had once considered wildly uncomfortable, but largely inconvenient, was now fraught with real, recently looming danger.

Aziraphale supposed he could have possibly avoided some of that had he taken one of the jobs offered to him long ago. He made a choice back then, thinking it was the right one. Hindsight being what it was, he realized his mistake now. But he wasn’t perfect. No one was. It’s difficult to say what should have happened, or could have happened, until you’re in the situation itself. And even then, there were so many variables in life that it was too difficult to predict what decisions would lead to the best outcome. “If only there were some sort of book that explained what would happen with each decision,” he said with a morose laugh. “It certainly would be nice to know the accurate path to take.”

He heard the lock turning in the front door.

It was time.

“Angel!” Crowley said, smiling as he held a sack up triumphantly. “I come bearing gifts.”

Aziraphale’s throat went impossibly dry.

“You know,” Crowley continued with his back turned to Aziraphale as he dug through the sack, “Most of the time, when someone says, _‘we need to talk,’_ it’s a bad thing.” He fished out two handfuls of chocolate coins, placing one stack on Aziraphale’s desk, and sat down on the couch. It wasn’t until after he had unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth that he looked up to see Aziraphale’s face. “Oh.”

Aziraphale looked away suddenly.

Crowley finished chewing quickly and swallowed. “What’s happened?”

“I, um…” Aziraphale, words caught in his throat, couldn’t bring himself to look at Crowley.

Crowley stood up, walking over to Aziraphale. “It’s all right, Angel. You can tell me anything,” he said, reaching to wrap his arms around him.

Aziraphale, ashamed, recoiled at the kindness of Crowley’s touch. He put his hand up. “Don’t… Don’t do that.” His eyes flicked up just long enough to catch the look of hurt confusion on Crowley’s face. “Please, sit back down, Crowley.”

“What’s going on? Have I done something wrong?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly. _You haven’t done anything. None of this is your fault. It’s me. Everyone who loves me gets hurt_. “Yes,” Aziraphale managed to say. “You’ve made a _dreadful_ mistake, and I’ve let this farce continue long enough.” _I’m a curse_ , Aziraphale thought, morosely, _and I can’t drag you down any further._

“What mistake? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve mistakenly grown to believe that this _thing_ ,” Aziraphale gestured back and forth between them both, “Was something more than it is. This has only ever been a casual fling.”

Crowley could barely process what he had just heard. His brow furrowed in confusion, then raised in disbelief. “How long have we been in love?” Crowley threw his arms out wide, desperately. “Nearly two years.”

“In love? We’re not in love. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even _like_ you.”

“You do,” Crowley quickly interjected with shock.

“Don’t be so naïve. Even if I did, things could never work between us. We come from different worlds, Crowley. We’re on opposite sides.”

Crowley pleaded with him. “What about _our side_?”

“There _is_ no _our_ side, Crowley. Not anymore.” Aziraphale dug into every reserve of strength he had. “It’s over.”

_I love you. I’m so sorry._

Crowley stared at him, dumbfounded, before finding a near-cracking voice in the back of his throat. “Right? Well then.” He grunted out a negation. “No. No, this is…” He shook his head. “You can’t _do_ this to us, it isn’t just your choice.”

“I’ve thought about this for quite some time now, and I think it’s for the best.” The truth in Aziraphale’s words was speculative. He had thought about it for roughly five and three quarters of the eight hours since he left Crowley to go to his mother’s house, inter-spaced with the occasional squashed bouts of hope.

“Oh, have you?” Crowley’s face drained of color. “How long have you been planning this? Planning this without even _talking_ to me about it?”

“Long enough to know this is what needs to be done.” _That_ was the _real_ lie, though Aziraphale truly believed it.

“How long, Aziraphale?”

 _He can’t know_ , Aziraphale thought. _He’ll never stay away. He’ll never be safe. I’m a danger to him for as long as he loves me._ “Oh, you had to know this would never last!” Aziraphale practically barked his response out, trying to mask his sorrow with faux irritation.

Crowley’s breath hitched in his chest. “Why?”

“Because it was never _real_. You only _think_ you love me because I took pity on you when you were hurt. That’s not love, Crowley. And you think I loved you because I took care of you, but I would have done that for anyone.”

“You’re lying,” he choked out in a whisper. “I _know_ you love me.”

“I never loved you the way you _think_ you loved me,” Aziraphale said, turning around to hide his face. It was a mixed blessing, he thought, that this was at least real. Crowley had loved him so fully and without restrictions. Even when he had limits on physical intimacy, he let Aziraphale in to make sure he felt loved. _And here I am, hiding like I always do, withholding what you deserve_. “I’m no different than anyone else.”

The only sound that could be heard was Crowley’s heavy breathing as Aziraphale stood with his back to Crowley, waiting for _something_.

“You’re _wrong_ ,” Crowley’s voice cut through the air, dangerously quiet. “You’re _worse_. None of them ever pretended to love me.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and turned around. “Exactly. And because I _did_ pretend—”

“ _Shut it_!” Crowley snarled, cutting Aziraphale off. “You’re _worse_ because you _weren’t_ pretending. You _did_ love me, and we both know it. What _they_ did,” Crowley laughed mirthlessly, “I never had any grand delusions of building a life together with any of _them_. But you gave me dreams, Aziraphale. You built up my hope for a season shy of two years, and now you’ve…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t like you. I never expected you to be so cruel.”

Aziraphale wished he could have said the same about himself.

“If you want to stay here, you can. I’ll get my things and go. But if you want to find your own place, I can stay at my sister’s flat for a while to give you time to figure things out.”

Crowley frowned, not looking at him. “You’ve just got it all worked out, don’t you?”

“I’ll be staying at Michael’s and still pay the bills for the next couple of months either way.”

Crowley’s jaw tightened, dimpling his cheeks as he thought about what had just been said to him. “No,“ he replied hoarsely after a few minutes. “I can’t stay here.” He looked up at Aziraphale. “You’re a part of every _single_ memory I have of this place. I can smell you as soon as I walk through the door. You’re embedded into each and every wall and surface. I-, I can’t. I can’t be here like this. I can’t live under your ghost.” He stood up, moving for the door. “I’ll be back later to start packing. You’re the one who wants this. _You_ should be the one to stay here with the memories. Should be easy enough for _you_.”

“Do you want some help packing?”

Crowley put his sunglasses on as he spoke, his face and voice as dark, hard, and sharp as obsidian glass. “Don’t be here when I get back.” He slammed the door behind him.

Crowley barely slept that night. It was cold, and he was upset and confused. Instead, he drove through the night, thinking and singing along while the radio played as if it were trying to tell him something.

_I don't mind it  
I still don't mind at all  
It's like one of those bad dreams  
When you can't wake up  
It looks like you've given up  
You've had enough  
But I want more  
No I won't stop  
Because I just know  
You'll come around  
Right?_

“He loves me. That bastard.” Crowley pulled the car over, but let the radio continue to play. “Everything was fine until suddenly he spent some time with his family, and then it wasn’t. They must’ve gotten into his head somehow. We were good this morning. _Really_ good.” He leaned back with a sigh.

He pulled down the mirror in the visor to look himself over, noticing the dark marks along his throat and clavicle, marks had been lovingly left that morning by the same lips that lied through their teeth to him that evening. He ran his fingers along the tender spots, wondering how long he’d have them, and if they would be the last. He bit his lip and closed his eyes as he pressed his fingertips firmly against them, hoping to keep the last remnants of their last time together for as long as possible.

_No I don't believe you  
When you say don't come around here no more  
I won't remind you  
You said we wouldn't be apart  
No I don't believe you  
When you say you don't need me anymore  
So don't pretend to  
Not love me at all_

_Just don't stand there and watch me fall  
_

Crowley pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw flashing colors behind his eyelids. He growled as the music played, revisiting the conversation he had with Aziraphale earlier that night. “He is so full of shit. That idiot loves me, and he knows it. He’s lying to me, but he loves me. He can pretend all he wants, but I _know_ he’s lying when he says he doesn’t.”

_'Cause I don't believe you_

“I can fix this. We’ll be all right,” Crowley whispered to himself. "He… He loves me. I _know_ he does.” Sunrise began to tint the sky in golden hues. “I’ve got to find him.”

Crowley first went by the flat. Discovering Aziraphale’s car was there, but Aziraphale wasn’t, he began driving around once more as the radio continued to dispense ineffable wisdom.

He drove around, checking the flat every hour on the hour until mid-morning.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Crowley muttered at the song playing. “Even my own car is against me.” Discouraged, but not done, he began to sing along anyway.

_Nobody cares  
It's win or lose, not how you play the game  
And the road to darkness has a way  
Of always knowing my name  
But I think nobody knows  
No, no  
Nobody knows, no, no, no, no_

As the song continued, and he recognized what was coming up, Crowley was practically beating the steering wheel with his fist as he sang along loudly enough to garner strange looks from people outside of his car.

_Baby  
Oh, the secret's safe with me  
There's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be  
And, baby, don't it feel like I'm all alone?  
Who's gonna be there after the last angel has flown  
And I've lost my way back home?  
  
_

Crowley wasn’t going to cry. He _wasn’t_. He _was_ , however, going to keep singing along to the radio through his introspection.

_Tomorrow I'll be there, my friend  
I'll wake up and start all over again  
  
_

Suddenly, he saw a familiar flash of platinum white hair walking in a throng of people on the pavement. He glanced at his mirrors and pulled up to the curb, slamming his brakes.

“Angel!” Crowley jumped out of the car, running around to the other side. “Look, I’m sorry about how I acted. Whatever it is, can we talk about this, please? Yeah?” Crowley opened the passenger door with a flourish. “Good. Get in the car.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley as if he were mad. “No!”

“I know you think you can’t have… Well, _whatever_ it is we have. I know you think it’s not enough, but it is _._ You’ve _always_ been enough for me. Don’t you get it? You’re all I’ve ever wanted and _more_. I can understand if it’s that scary for you. It’s scary for me, too, sometimes. But we could run away together. We could stay in the car until we figure something out. It’s not so bad. I can sell my paintings and play guitar while you look for something that makes you happy, too. Or you could just write your book if you want.” Crowley’s eyebrows lifted in a warm smile as his arms went wide. “I’ll take care of you, Angel, I will. Nobody would have to know where we are.” Crowley looked desperate waving his arm as he continued to try to convince Aziraphale to come with him. “We were happy together, weren’t we?”

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale replied. “We can’t just go off like that.”

“I’ll protect you, Angel,” Crowley said with softness and love.

Aziraphale’s heart sank down through his feet into the pavement at that phrase. He couldn’t allow that to happen, not when protecting Aziraphale could very well mean Crowley’s death “This is the only way. My decision stands.”

“ _Your_ decision?” Crowley balked. “I don’t think that’s _your_ decision any more than it is an _excuse_ made to justify whatever happened yesterday when you saw your family.” Crowley tilted his hair, walking forward. “I’m a fucking adult! I can make my own decisions. Don’t _I_ get a say in this? I’m part of this relationship, too.”

“Would you _truly_ want to be with me knowing I didn’t want to be with you? That I didn’t love you?” _It’s not a lie, it’s just a question. It’s not the same thing,_ Aziraphale told himself. _Be strong. You just have to get through this until you can figure something out._

Crowley slumped. “No, but that’s… That’s not… You _do_ love me, Aziraphale. I, um, I know you do.”

Aziraphale _did_. He _did_ love him. This was too difficult. Aziraphale’s resolve wavered. “Look, I- I- I'm quite sure if I can just, just reach the right people, then I can get all this sorted out.”

“There _aren’t_ any right people. Who are you going to talk to _now_ that you couldn’t _yesterday_?”

“Maybe I can try to talk to Gabe.” Aziraphale immediately regretted accidentally letting that slip.

Crowley’s face darkened as he drew his head back. “Did _he_ put you up to this?”

“No! I—”

“If you couldn’t talk to Gabe before, and you sure as _shit_ didn’t even _try_ to talk to _me_ about it first, I can't see how that's going to make a difference based on anything he has to say. Who does that leave? There's just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to _any_ of us.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Aziraphale said, motioning with his hands. “I’ll talk to him. I… I will fix it, somehow.”

“That won't happen. You're so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid? You can’t expect to change the mind of someone like that overnight, maybe not even at all. I _wish_ you could, Angel, I do. And if _anyone_ could it would be you, but you _can’t_.” Crowley panted desperately.

Aziraphale let out a pained breath. “I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale spoke in a strained whisper. “I don’t think I can change his mind... Or mine. This is how it _has_ to be.”

“Angel, you can’t possibly think that what you’re doing to us is the right thing, can you? I told you, I don’t care about all of _them_. I just want _you_. Don’t I mean enough to you?” Crowley stood before him, eyes red and pleading. “I never asked you to choose between me and your family. I never would have done that. I’ll stay your dirty little secret, I don’t care! I just want to _be_ with you, you blasted idiot! Please, Aziraphale, _Angel_ , I lo—”

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale interrupted before Crowley could finish speaking the word Aziraphale couldn’t bear to hear from Crowley in this moment. He didn't feel that he deserved Crowley's love, not now, maybe not ever.

“Oh,” Crowley groaned, looking dejected and rejected. “I'm going home, Angel. I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving.” Crowley looked at him with red-rimmed eyes before putting his sunglasses back on. “And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even _think_ about you!”

With a flourish, a slammed car door, and a puff of steaming exhaust, he was gone.

“You’re better off without him,” a stranger remarked to Aziraphale, having seen the spectacle.

 _I’m not_ , Aziraphale thought _. But he’s far better off without someone like me.  
  
_

After a few hours, Aziraphale circled the area until Crowley’s car was gone before he approached his building. Unlocking the door, he looked inside, heart sinking. He walked around the flat, noting the empty spaces where Crowley’s things had been. He slumped against the door facing as he looked inside of the bedroom and saw a brown shoe box in the center of the bed. He approached with trepidation, gingerly lifting the lid to see that the shoes were inside, wrapped safely in the red dust bag.

Crowley pulled over, unsure of where to go. He sat there, listening to the radio as it played.

_Car is parked, bags are packed, but what kind of heart doesn't look back  
At the comfortable glow from the porch, the one I will still call yours?  
All those words came undone and now I'm not the only one  
Facing the ghosts that decide if the fire inside still burns_

_All I have, all I need, he's the air I would kill to breathe  
Holds my love in his hands, still I'm searching for something  
Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I'll breathe again_

He wanted to turn it off, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to push the button. He sat, his face carved in stone, listening. His lungs seized slightly as he realized he had been holding the breath he forgot he needed.

_Open up next to you and my secrets become your truth  
And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view  
Hang my head, break my heart built from all I have torn apart  
And my burden to bear is a love I can't carry anymore_

His phone vibrated.

> **You left your shoes.**
> 
> **You left me**
> 
> **Nevermind.  
>  Forget I said anything.**
> 
> **You fixed them  
>  YOu keep them**
> 
> **I fixed them for YOU.**
> 
> **Doesn’t matter  
>  can’t wear them again**
> 
> **Why?**
> 
> **Hurts too much**
> 
> **I’m sorry.  
>  I didn’t mean to ruin  
> your shoes.**
> 
> **You didn’t ruin them  
>  that happened before  
>  you ever touched them  
>  but I can’t even look  
>  at them without  
>  thinking about you**
> 
> **I’m sorry.**
> 
> **I don’t believe you  
>  but thanks**
> 
> **I’m sorry.**
> 
> **. . .**

The radio continued to play while Crowley tried to decide what to say next, typing and deleting over and over again.

_Oh, it hurts to be here  
I only wanted love from you  
Yeah, it hurts to be here  
What am I gonna do?_

Crowley slapped the knob to turn down the radio. “That’s enough of that,” he muttered. Crowley stared at the phone screen for a few minutes more before he shut the phone off and closed his eyes, reminding himself, yet again, to breathe.

Aziraphale watched the dots blink, waiting for the reply. After several minutes, they stopped. He stared at his phone, silently willing a response to come through, but none came. 

Crowley’s back was on fire. The first night in the car again after sleeping in a bed was always difficult. The next one was usually a little easier, but not this time. This time, it was near torture after having slept in a bed for over a year straight. Regardless of how he felt, both physically and emotionally, he still had a commission to finish for Anathema. He was one to keep his promises, being that the actions behind the words were what was important. He knew she would have understood, of course, if he had offered to refund her, but he had already spent the money she paid him on the pocket watch and a few other gifts for Aziraphale. Thinking Aziraphale would be off that Monday, he went into the diner to work on the sketch, hoping to pass the piece along to Newt when it was completed.

“Hi, Crowley!” Newt greeted him brightly upon lifting his head to see Crowley’s back as he put his things down at the booth in the corner. “Did you have a lovely Christm—” Newt stopped mid-word when Crowley turned around. “What happened? Are you all right?” He asked, taking note of the dark purple half-moons underneath Crowley’s bloodshot, tired eyes.

Crowley curled his lip, scrunching his nose and closing his eyes as he shook his head. He did not want to have this conversation. He did not _deserve_ to have this conversation. Aziraphale ended it. Aziraphale could explain it. “Just… Gotta get this thing done for Anathema,” Crowley said, sitting down. “You don’t mind if I sit here to work, do you?”

Newt put a fresh cup of coffee down in front of him. “Sure. Anything you like.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Is something wrong with Aziraphale?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, drawling the word out as casually as he could, not at all wanting to appear to be on the verge of a breakdown. It had the opposite effect. “Stuff happened. I lost my best friend,” he said, hoping to leave it at that. “I just figured it would be easier to get some work done for Anathema in here while he’s off.”

“Oh? He switched shifts. I actually assumed he was coming along behind you when you came in just now.”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose sharply. “What?”

A loud clap of thunder startled them. He heard a yip from the front door as Aziraphale stepped through quickly, having also been spooked by the noise.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a whisper.

Aziraphale turned around with a surprised look and walked over to the booth.

“Are you here?” Crowley asked, partly out of shock and partly out of an attempt to play it cool, being utterly devoid of any form of good sense in the moment. “I… I thought you were off today. I’ll go,” Crowley said, quickly gathering up his art supplies into his satchel.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I _do_.”

“Can’t we just… Can’t—”

“No, we _can’t_. You don’t get to miss me when you _chose_ this against my will. I didn’t want this, Aziraphale. I didn’t want _any_ of this. I wanted _you_. And it may have been a bullshit fantasy to _you_ , but it was real as anything to _me_.”

He threw enough money down on the table to cover his tab and walked out the door.

“What happened between you two?” Newt asked Aziraphale, distraught.

There was a pause. “I'm afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things,” Aziraphale said quietly, watching through the window as Crowley, shivering and drenched with rain, got into his car.

Crowley didn’t like the cold. He knew he couldn’t have handled staying in Aziraphale’s flat, but he wasn’t looking forward to the alternative, either. He usually spent the winter playing piano a few nights a week at the Inferno Cocktail Lounge in exchange for one of the downstairs rooms at the hotel behind it, both owned by Louis Eiffer.

The Inferno was really more of a cover, a reputable business to keep eyes off of what happened out back. The hotel was never fully booked in reality, though it was on paper, with most of the business going on upstairs in the upper levels, and rarely for more than an hour or so at a time. The downstairs rooms were really only rented out to travelers for the appearance of legitimate business and Yelp reviews, though rarely did anyone book. Crowley knew Louis was taking advantage of him by not paying him actual wages, but the room had a kitchenette, a bathroom with a tub and shower, a bed with clean linens, a deadbolt, and it was warm.

Crowley had already declined when Louis texted him about it a couple of months ago. He had no interest in the brothel on the second and third floors, and didn’t want to get mixed up in becoming a _field agent_ , as Louis liked to call it, peddling Louis’s own special formulations of _recreational substances_. He might partake occasionally, but he was no pusher. But mostly, at the time, Crowley had a warm bed to sleep in, next to the very angel that warmed it.

Right now, he was cold, he was wet, and he didn’t know what else to do. Swallowing his pride, Crowley typed out a text.

> **Plans changed.**  
>  Need a room.  
>  Got anything available?
> 
> **Come see me.**

“You sure you still don’t want to work the Third Circle?”

“I don’t.”

“Lovely thing like you would make a lot of money for us both,” Louis said, his voice dulcet and encouraging. “You’re practically temptation in a mortal form.”

Crowley shook his head. “Isn’t my scene.”

“I could set you up in whatever sort of situation you liked. You’d have your pick of that section of my client base. They’d _love_ you down there.”

“I just want to play in the lounge. Have you got something for me or not?”

Louis leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together as he looked Crowley up and down from across his desk.

“I shouldn’t let you come back here.”

“If I’m wasting my time…” Crowley said as he moved to stand up.

Louis leaned forward, reaching his hand out to motion Crowley to sit back down. “I didn’t say that, darling. Just calm down. I think I can fit you in. What nights were you looking for?”

“I really don’t care,” Crowley said with a heavy exhale. “I need the days free, but I’ll work whatever nights you’ve got.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Louis said with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Crowley sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “That hasn’t really been my experience.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to give away too much here, but I want you all to know that this part takes place at the end of December. By the end of July in their timeline, they'll have discussed this in such a way that they come to a good plan for working things out.  
> But that won't be the end of the story. That's only the end of this, the Hell of the second act that began a few chapters ago. The third act is the climb back up from the Fall.
> 
> It isn't going to be an easy path, but they'll get there.  
> They _will_ get their Happily Ever After.


	19. There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Recall Our Times Of Joy In Wretchedness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to The Inferno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:  
> [Lady Gaga A Million Reasons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYRJ-ryPEu0)  
> [Regina Spektor How ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd6dN_eNEqM)  
> [Steam Powered Giraffe Hold Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnHeishUA_w)  
> [Boyce Avenue cover My Immortal) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDAC2kL01d0)
> 
> And we're bringing this one back.  
> [Sara Bareilles She Used To Be Mine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53GIADHxVzM)
> 
> Chapter title from Inferno, the first part of The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri.

Aziraphale absolutely, positively did _not_ want to go out anywhere to celebrate New Year’s Eve. He had every intention of eating something terrible for him, thinking about Crowley, watching Jool’s Annual Hootenanny, thinking about Crowley, having a sad wank while thinking about what he and Crowley did the previous New Year, and going to sleep.

Anathema was having none of this nonsense. “You’re coming with us, Aziraphale,” she explained, one hand pointing at him while the other rested firmly upon her hip. It was impressive, considering the slinky fabric of her high-necked dark emerald green dress. “You need to get out of your own head. Maybe stop thinking about him long enough to get your head out of your ass.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Which is it? Am I in my own head, or is my head up my own ass?”

“You heard me.”

“But I’m… I was going to—"

“Right,” Anathema said with a triumphant expression. “Go change into something nice.”

“I’d do as she asked if I were you,” Newt straightened the lapel of the dark green suit he wore as he whispered to Aziraphale.

A quarter of an hour later, Aziraphale emerged from his bedroom in a dove-grey suit with a vivid robin’s blue shirt and walked down the hall to where Newt and Anathema were waiting for him.

“That’s more like it,” she said as they headed down to Dick Turpin. “Get in, loser,” she winked. “We’re going drinking.”

Aziraphale looked to Newt, who merely shrugged his shoulders with a dumb grin. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Can we at least stop to get something to eat first? I can’t drink on an empty stomach,” Aziraphale asked from the back seat.

“I’d be interested in that as well,” Newt said quietly to Anathema.

“Relax, guys,” she said. “The place we’re going has a kitchen.” She turned around in her seat to address Aziraphale directly. “I’ve heard they do remarkable things to oysters.”

They stepped inside of the dark lounge, lit here and there by candles on tables, along with hanging fairy lights on the walls that resembled stars in the night sky. Rich piano music surrounded them.

“Uh-oh,” Newt muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Anathema asked, trying to see what her husband was talking about.

_And if you say something that you might even mean  
It's hard to even fathom which parts I should believe  
'Cause you're giving me a million reasons  
Give me a million reasons  
Givin' me a million reasons  
About a million reasons_

Aziraphale gasped, whipping his head around at the sound of the familiar voice.

_I bow down to pray  
I try to make the worst seem better  
Lord, show me the way  
To cut through all his worn out leather  
_

Crowley was seated at a glossy, dark red piano underneath soft pink, blue, and white spotlights. He wore a dark red and black paisley embroidered jacket, his hair pulled back over his right ear with a red rose in full-bloom. His back was to the door as he played and sang.

_I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away  
But baby, I just need one good one to stay_

“We don’t have to stay, Aziraphale,” Anathema whispered, her eyes wide. “We can… Let’s just go.”

_Baby I'm bleedin', bleedin'  
Stay  
Can't you give me what I'm needin', needin'_

“Could we… Could we stay? Just for a bit,” Aziraphale asked, lifting his eyebrows up to intensify his plea. “Please? We’re already here.”

_  
Every heartbreak makes it hard to keep the faith  
But baby, I just need one good one  
Good one, good one, good one, good one, good one_

Aziraphale didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He moved to a table, still behind Crowley, but just close enough to see his face now and then as he turned his head to sing. Newt and Anathema exchanged a quick, nervous glance and followed him.

_When I bow down to pray  
I try to make the worst seem better  
Lord, show me the way  
To cut through all his worn out leather_ _'  
_ _I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away  
_ _But baby, I just need one good one, good one  
Tell me that you'll be the good one, good one  
Baby, I just need one good one to stay_

Crowley took a sip from the glass next to him at the piano and flipped the pages of his set list to check for the next song.

_How can I forget your love?  
How can I never see you again?  
There's a time and place  
For one more sweet embrace  
And there’s a time, ooh  
when it all, ooh  
Went wrong_

The glossy, candy-apple red of his lips caught the light just so, glistening as he sang while thick, voluminous lashes fluttered beneath doe-eyed liner and smoky shadow of wine and roses.

_How can I begin again?  
How can I try to love someone new?  
Someone who isn't you  
How can our love be true?  
When I'm not, ooh  
I'm not over you_

Aziraphale’s chest was tight, but he couldn’t look away, not even when the waiter came to take their drink orders. Luckily, Anathema, pushy that she was, knew how to handle that.

_Time can come and take away the pain  
But I just want my memories to remain  
To hear your voice  
To see your face  
There's not one moment I'd erase  
You are a guest here now_

The waiter placed a single-malt scotch in front of Aziraphale.

_How can I forget your love?  
How can I never see you again?  
How can I ever know why some stay and others go?  
When I don't, ooh  
I don't want you to go_

_I guess I know by now  
That we will meet again somehow_

At the end of that song, Crowley glanced at his watch. He drained his glass and lifted one of his legs over to turn around on the piano bench. His face, though it hadn’t exactly been perky before, fell when he saw Aziraphale sitting a few tables away.

_Fuck_ , Crowley thought. _I’m at work. I can’t just leave_. He stood up and, after picking up another drink from the bar, walked over to a table near the piano on the opposite side of the lounge. He pointedly ignored Aziraphale externally while keeping an eye on him in his peripheral view.

_Don’t come over, don’t come over, don’t come over, oh for fuck’s sake, Angel, sit back down with Anathema and Newt._

Aziraphale sat down across from Crowley at the table.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit_.

“Crowley? Well, fancy running into you here. Still a musician, then??”

Crowley looked across at the piano he was playing not two minutes prior, then back at Aziraphale with an irritated scowl.

“What kind of stupid question is that, ‘ _Still a musician?_ ’ What else am I going to be, an aardvark?”

Crowley softened when he caught sight of a flash of gold on Aziraphale’s right pinky finger. A sliver of hope pierced through his heart. _He’s still wearing my ring_ , he thought. _That’s an action, isn’t it? Is that a gesture? Does he still love me?_ He deflated slightly. _Or did he not care enough about it for it to mean anything other than something pretty on his finger?_

Aziraphale, noticing Crowley staring at his hand, realized he was still wearing _the_ ring. The _it’s-not-but-it-is, we-don’t-need-a-license-or-ceremony, we-just-need-us_ ring. Aziraphale smiled nervously as he quickly twisted it off, tucking it into his pocket 

Crowley’s face darkened as he sat upright, closing his mouth. _Ah, I see._ Crowley thought. _It didn’t even mean enough for you to remember you had it on until you saw it meant something to **me** , I guess._

“Been playing here long?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley said nothing.

“I’m here with Newt and Anathema,” he said, pointing towards them. “I was told the kitchen did remarkable things to oysters.”

Crowley took a silent sip from his glass.

“Could I tempt you to—”

Crowley looked at his watch. He still had 10 minutes left on his break, but it didn’t matter. He quickly downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, putting it back down with a bit more force than necessary. He stood up and went back over to the piano.

“No, that’s… That’s your job, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said quietly, staring at Crowley’s now empty glass on the table. His fingers wrapped around the ring in his pocket as he lifted his face back up to view Crowley.

Crowley’s hands shook as he picked up his playlist, accidentally dropping it in the floor. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, muttering something no one else could hear. He took a deep breath and turned his head towards the table near the piano where Aziraphale was sitting to look straight at him, keeping his eyes on him as he began to play.

_You told me  
You'd hold me  
Hold me til the mornin' light  
You craved me  
You saved me  
Saved me from my own foolish blight_

Crowley turned back to the piano.

_You're gone now  
I'm strong now  
Strong enough to cry only at night  
I see now  
It can't be now  
Now that you're away  
And I wish that I could be like the desert  
He never seems to cry  
I wish that I could be like the ocean  
She never needs to ask why  
I'm a lonely lady only  
Lonely lady only_

Another empty glass. Another nod towards the bar.

_I'm so tired of being here  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
And if you have to leave  
I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone_

Another tumbler of Talisker was placed next to Crowley at the piano.

_You used to captivate me by your resonating light  
Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind  
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams  
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me  
These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase_

His voice wavered, rasping slightly as he continued to sing.

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone  
But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along_

Crowley looked over his right shoulder towards Aziraphale. As it turned out, Aziraphale wasn’t the only one who had been thinking about their previous New Year together.

_You still have all of me_

After his set was finished and the New Year had begun, he and the rest of the staff locked up the lounge for the night. Crowley stepped out to sit on the stairs to have a smoke and a think. He hadn’t gotten very far on either when he heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Crawley?”

“Crawley?” Crowley took a long drag off of his cigarette. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“It _is_ you, isn’t it?” The woman said, grinning as she sat down beside him. She pulled out a cigarette from her own pack and held it to her lips, looking at him expectantly.

“Hello, Dana,” Crowley said, lighting her cigarette. “I see you’re still hanging about here.”

She blew a smoke ring into the air. “It’s Dagon now.” She winked as she nudged him. “ _Master of torments_.”

His eyebrows rose as he smiled. “Oh, you finally did it, then, have you?”

“Yeah,” Dana said, leaning back on the stairs. “Turns out I can make a lot more money slapping people about and patching them up after than I ever did on my knees.”

“They really go for that sort of thing, do they?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d be amazed.” Dana’s eyes lit up as she spoke. “It’s really therapeutic for a lot of people. Gets their tensions out, they get to work out their issues, and nobody _really_ gets hurt. Everybody wins.”

Crowley took another drag off of his cigarette, regarding her with interest. “So, you’re a therapist now?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am.” She sat up a bit taller, picking a bit of lint off of her sleeve.

Crowley tilted his head with a thoughtful pout. “Whatever works, I suppose. I’m not one to judge.”

“You should try it.”

“Oh, no, you know that I’m not...” His glossy lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. “I don’t really go for that sort of thing. Not to _that_ extreme, anyway. A little restraint in moderation is nice, but I _really_ don’t want anybody _slapping me about_ , as you so eloquently put it.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I thought you might like to be the one to slap them around a bit without having to actually fuck anybody if you don’t want to. I know you don’t—” She paused for a moment to look at him. “What do you mean, _not to that extreme_? A _little_ restraint? Did you have a change of heart over that whole sex thing?”

“ _That whole sex thing_ , for fuck’s sake, Dana! You don’t have to be so cavalier about it.” His expression was both scandalized and embarrassed.

“I’ve just spent the last hour pegging and paddling a very nice young man until he thanked me and asked for a lolly, which I gave him. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by _cavalier_.” She poked him in the ribs with a sharply-pointed fingernail. “Tell me, **_now_** ,” she said, her voice growling in a way that vibrated both his nose and ears.

“Holy shit, Dana! What’s with the voice?”

“You will address me as _Master Dagon_ , and you **_will_** tell me everything I want to know **_now_**.”

Crowley groaned, taking another puff from his cigarette before lighting a second off of the butt. “Fine. I was…” He pointed at her with the freshly-lit cigarette. “You know, that is _really_ good, that forceful voice. I can see why you’re doing so well for yourself now. Anyway…” He took a deep drag, blowing smoke out before he continued. “I was seeing someone for… For a bit.”

“How long?”

“Eh… er…a-almost two years,” he mumbled.

Dana’s eyes went wide. “No! You?”

Crowley’s head pulled back as he glared at her. “And just what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t take you for the sort of person to settle down.”

Crowley looked at the ground, his shoulders drooping at Dana’s answer. “Yeah, well, neither did _he_ , apparently.” Maybe the fact that everything Crowley ever wanted was something he could never have was evident to everyone but himself, he thought. He had only been thinking about it since… _Forever_. He literally could not remember a time he didn’t want that, the whole happily ever after business. There were, however, plenty of memories of times that he thought he _wouldn’t_ have it.

“And now you’re back here,” Dana said with a frown.

“Yup,” he said, popping the _p_ through the remnants of his lip gloss. Maybe it was time to finally let go of the silly pipe dreams of his youth.

Dana brightened slightly. “Do you think you might come work upstairs with us, then?”

He scoffed disgustedly. “Did Louis send you to talk to me?”

Dana held up her cigarette defensively, shaking her head. “I just came out for a smoke. I didn’t even know you were back.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at her in thought. “I suppose.”

Dana reached over to touch the embroidered lace on Crowley’s jacket. “This is nice.”

“You think so?” He perked up, rubbing his sleeve with a little smile. “Louis gave it to me to wear tonight for the show.”

“I thought you didn’t accept gifts,” Dana said, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t like owing people _shit_.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve gone soft, haven’t I?” Crowley groaned. “Besides, it’s… It’s a job perk. Consider it part of the work uniform. You know he prefers the entertainment to look nice.”

Dana grinned. “Is _that_ what _he_ told you?”

Crowley scoffed.

“So that’s a yes, then, is it?”

Crowley groaned. “Shut up. I’m keeping it,” he said, rubbing his hands along the sleeves of his jacket again. “I like it,” he said quietly. “S'nice. Haven’t got a lot else that’s nice in my life anymore.”

Dana nudged him gently with her shoulder. She watched as he sighed and stared off into the distance, lighting another cigarette directly off of the previous. “Something’s wrong. What’s going on?”

Crowley leaned back on the stairs with a growl. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Maybe not, but you _need_ to. I _know_ these things.”

“I _don’t_. And how would _you_ know, anyway?”

Dana arched an eyebrow with a smirk. “You can’t fool a dominatrix.”

Crowley’s jaw clenched, dimpling his cheek as he turned to look at her, considering. Turning his head back to look up, he took a drag from his cigarette, squeezed his eyes shut, and gritted his teeth for a moment before blowing out the smoke with a growl. “Fine. I uh… I saw _him_ , tonight, I mean. He came in with a couple of our frie—” He closed his eyes and grimaced, quickly correcting himself. “ _His_ friends. Didn’t know I’d be there, I don’t think, but didn’t matter. He just popped on over in between my sets like… Like he hadn’t...” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he sighed, leaning his head back on the steps with his palm on his forehead. “He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed.”

“What did you do?”

“What else could I do? I had to finish my set.”

“No, I mean, why did you leave?”

Crowley shot upright instantly. “I didn’t! He left _me_. I wouldn’t have left him for anything. I tried everything I could think of to talk him out of it.” He looked at her with desperate eyes. “We were _happy_ , Dana. Fucking _ecstatic_. Everything was fine, great, even, Christmas-fucking-morning. But he’s got this homophobic step-brother, and his family thinks he’s straight. And I get that, I understood! I wasn’t upset at all about any of it, just as long as he kept coming home to _me_ ,” he seemed to hiss, pointing to his chest. “But he said he wanted to make it up to me, since I couldn’t go with him to his family’s Christmas thing.” Crowley smiled with a sarcastic laugh as he looked up into the sky. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”

“And I won’t even charge you by the hour to tell me,” Dana grinned, leaning into him briefly.

Crowley smiled genuinely at her. In spite of the circumstances, it really was good to see her again. She had always been so easy to talk to. Maybe she was right. Maybe he _did_ need to talk about this.

“We, he and I, I mean, Christmas morning, we had sex from before dawn until just before his sister picked him up mid-morning,” Crowley continued, explaining what happened. “Then that evening, after he left his parent’s place, he popped over to Covent Garden, where I was busking, long enough to tell me he was headed home, and that he needed to talk to me.”

His hands were shaking again as he lit yet another cigarette. He wasn’t sure if it was his nerves, all the drinking he had done earlier, the fact that he had started smoking again in the past few days and was now chain-smoking, or something else. Regardless, he felt like Hell. He looked up at the stars as he took a few puffs to settle himself before he continued to speak. “And that’s when it all went to shit. He told me he didn’t love me, and that I didn’t love _him_ , which was a lie, and I _know_ that, but it didn’t change anything. He still _said_ it. He still _did_ it. _I_ still don’t know for certain what happened between him fucking me over the bathroom sink and then fucking me over in general, but I suspect it has to do with his family getting into his head.”

Crowley flinched as Dana reached over to wipe the inky tear sliding down through his eyeliner with her thumb.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

He hadn’t realized he _was_ crying until then, sending more tears to follow in the wake of that first one. Well, in for a penny, as they say. “That’s because I _don’t_ cry, Dana. This isn’t me. Or, it _wasn’t_ … Before _him_. He _ruined_ me.”

Dana wrapped her arm around his shoulders, stroking his hair while he sobbed against her dressing gown. It was the first time he had actually fully cried in the past week, and he _needed_ it.

Crowley sniffled, wiping at the splotchy stains his eye makeup had left on her shoulder. “M’sorry about the mess,” he mumbled, nearly incoherently.

“Oh, don’t fret, love. This thing has seen far worse than a little mascara, believe me.”

Crowley looked at her with glistening eyes and a forced half-smile.

Dana hated how sad Crowley was right now. She had an idea. “So you’ve loved, and you’ve lost,” she began in an attempt to rally the troops. “And in that time, you’ve discovered that you’re tougher, smarter, and more self-assured.” She smiled at him and leaned in, rubbing his shoulders. “I want you to repeat after me. You’re tougher…”

Crowley, face tilted down, looked up at her meekly.

“You have to say it or it won’t work, Crawley,” she whispered.

“Crowley.”

“You’ll always be Crawley to me, but if you insist…” She held his face in her hands, smiling. “You have to say it, Crowley. You’re tougher…”

“I’m tougher,” he echoed softly.

“Smarter,” she nodded at him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

“I’m smarter,” he said with a sniffle.

“And more self-assured.”

“Dana, I’m not. I’m _really_ not. I can’t say that. Please, I don’t… I’m not ready to say that. Not yet.”

She looked at him for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “Very well. More aware, then?”

“That, I can do. I’m _much_ more aware now than I _ever_ was before.”

“Maybe. But I think you’ve still got room to grow there.”

“Right,” Crowley said, sniffling a bit. He stood up, fishing a set of keys out of his pocket. “I left something in the lounge. I need to go ahead and get that. See you around?”

Dana nodded.

Aziraphale spent the entire rest of the evening thinking about Crowley while twisting the ring around on his finger, having put it back on as soon as they left the Inferno. He spoke when spoken to, gave hugs and kissed cheeks at midnight, and went through all of the motions of someone having a good time. It was all perfectly lovely, and all perfectly a lie.

Anathema and Newt had offered to stay with him for a while at the end of the festivities, but he declined.

Walking into his living room, he sat down on the bench where Crowley had sat so many times prior, playing out the songs in his heart. Aziraphale pulled the book of sheet music Crowley had given him, not long after they had gone to see the musical, from the book case. He sighed, opening it up to a specific song, and placed it on the piano. Reverently lifting the cover from the keys for the first time since Crowley had last played it, his own fingers began to move. Aziraphale’s voice was a small rasp of a whisper as he sang, all alone once again, in his flat.

_It's not simple to say  
That most days I don't recognize me  
That these shoes and this apron  
That place and its patrons  
Have taken more than I gave them  
It's not easy to know  
I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true  
I was never attention's sweet center  
I still remember that boy_

_He's imperfect, but he tries  
He is good, but he lies  
He is hard on himself  
He is broken and won't ask for help  
He is messy, but he's kind  
He is lonely most of the time  
He is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie  
He is gone, but he used to be mine_

There was a series of discordant notes as he slumped his arms down on the keys, resting his head on them to quietly weep.

“Crowley was right. It’s Hell being the one that stayed.”

Dead on his feet, he stood up and walked back down the hallway. Sitting on his bed, he flipped through his contacts and made a call.

Across town, in an empty lounge, a piano played in the darkness.

_It's not what I asked for  
Sometimes life just slips in through a back door  
And carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true  
And now I've got you  
And you're not what I asked for  
If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back  
For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two  
For the person that I knew_

_Who'll be reckless, just enough  
Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up  
When he's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love  
And then he'll get stuck  
And be scared of the life that's inside him  
Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds him  
To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in his eyes  
That's been gone, but used to be mine  
Used to be mine_

The voice began to falter.

_He is messy, but he's…  
He is lonely…_

The piano went silent. One more line, all alone and barely above a whisper, sang out through the empty lounge.

 _He used to be mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be SUPER busy the rest of the week in finishing up the Good Omens Big Bang work (I have TWO projects posting on Saturday, along with my own update) but I had a moment today to get some things together for the chapters for this week. If I don't have time to post an update on Saturday, it definitely will be up by Sunday. It's already written, but I'll be doing a lot of juggling to coordinate things with the other projects that day. I anticipate it being fine, but I'd like to give myself a buffer just in case, so I'm letting you know now that you needn't worry. There WILL be an update this weekend even if it isn't on Saturday itself.


	20. Love, Which Quickly Arrests The Gentle Heart, Seized Him With My Beautiful Form That Was Taken From Me, In A Manner Which Still Grieves Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year, New Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Brandi Carlile The Story ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWPxRcs_ee0)  
> [Miley Cyrus/Mumford and Sons Little Wrecking Ball](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gDlA_8k7n4)  
> [Queen Love Of My Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o2RwOWhhJY)  
> [Dolly Parton Jolene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mZ-uGBXsHc)  
> ([Miley's version of Jolene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOwblaKmyVw) is really good, too.)
> 
> Chapter title from Dante Alighieri's, Inferno

A voice low and dusky with sleep answered the phone she had just blindly fished out of a pocket without opening her eyes to look. Clearing her throat, she greeted the as of yet unknown caller.

“Raphael’s trousers. Linda speaking.”

Her eyes opened and she sat up upon recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. “Is something wrong?”

She looked over at Raphael, who was snoring softly next to her. “He’s asleep. Do I need to wake him?”

There was a pause as she listened. “Should I have him call you when he wakes up?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you sure?”

She scratched her head. “If you’re certain, yes, I’ll tell him. Happy New Year.”

She reached back over Raphael to place his phone on his bedside table. The motion woke him up.

“Is everything all right?” He asked sleepily.

“Aziraphale called,” she said.

Raphael became more alert. “What did he need?”

“He seemed upset. He said not to wake you, but for me to tell you, specifically these words, that he ‘did it again,’ but didn’t say anything more. Do you have any idea what it means?”

Raphael was already getting out of bed and moving towards the closet. “It means that I’ve got to go to London.”

When Aziraphale found he couldn’t seem to stay asleep for more than a half hour at a time, he gave up and went into the living room to write. He sat at his desk, alternating between staring at the photo of Crowley in the frame and the open book in front of him.

The sunlight coming in through the window told him it was mid-morning when he heard a knock at the door. He opened it to hear his second favorite greeting.

“Hello, stranger.”

Aziraphale spent the next couple of hours catching Raphael up on everything that had gone down in the past week, and in particular, the night before. Linda, who had driven from Manchester to London while Raphael dozed in the passenger seat, had chosen to stay at the hotel catching up on her own sleep while giving Raphael and Aziraphale time to talk.

Aziraphale had an urge that had been needling him since he left The Inferno last night. “Are you hungry?” He asked Raphael. “Let me buy you lunch.”

“That sounds good, actually. Did you have a place in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Did you bring me here on purpose, Aziraphale?” Raphael asked as soon as he caught sight of Crowley drinking out of a reusable water bottle while setting up his equipment on the pavement. Crowley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, hissing like his water had a bit of a bite to it.

“I needed to see him,” Aziraphale said, guiltily.

“If you need to see him, just see him.”

“It’s not that simple,” Aziraphale replied.

“Nothing ever is with you.” Raphael sighed.

“You don’t understand,” Aziraphale near-choked.

Raphael’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. “I may be the only other person in the _whole world_ that understands this situation.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “I know I screwed up, but I didn’t have a choice. I still don’t. I don’t know how to handle this. It really isn’t my area of expertise.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to be pretty good at this sort of thing by now,” Raphael muttered under his breath.

Aziraphale cut his eyes at Raphael with a quiver of his chin.

Raphael groaned out a sigh. Maybe he was being a little harsh this soon after the breakup. Still, there were things that needed to be said. But perhaps they’d taste better with a cup of cocoa. “Fine. If we’re not _actually_ having lunch, I need something warm to drink. I’ll be right back.”

Raphael walked off to explore the street food options while Aziraphale stayed to listen to Crowley play.

_I climbed across the mountain tops  
Swam all across the ocean blue_  
_I crossed all the lines, and I broke all the rules  
But, baby, I broke them all for you  
Oh because even when I was flat broke  
You made me feel like a million bucks  
You do  
I was made for you  
For you_

Crowley looked up to see an angel across the way, watching him play. With his head still somewhat cloudy from the night before, along with the fact that he had only stopped drinking long enough to sleep, he wondered if Aziraphale had come to his senses and was here to collect him.

He quickly panicked, realizing he didn’t have his car. Dana had insisted he shouldn’t drive and dropped him off.

In truth, he hadn’t had _that_ much to drink, really. He had decided he could have _one_ drink for New Year’s Eve, and had been nursing that _one_ drink until Aziraphale showed up during his set. It had been so long, going without anything more than an occasional sip for a special occasion. His tolerance was as low as his spirit.

He never really was all that much for alcohol, anyway. But it was a special occasion, and that special occasion had sunk its claws in him and refused to let go.

 _Oh, well_ , he thought. If his angel were here to pick him up, he’d just get his car back from Dana later.

Momentarily forgetting how hurt and angry he had been the past week, Crowley smiled a hopeful smile.

_You see the smile that's on my mouth  
It's hiding the words that don't come out  
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed  
They don't know my head is a mess  
No, they don't know who I really am  
And they don't know what  
I've been through like you do_

Crowley wondered if maybe last night had made Aziraphale change his mind. Maybe he realized he was wrong, and they _did_ belong together.

_  
And I was made for you_

Crowley looked up again to find that Aziraphale was no longer alone in the crowd. Raphael was there, handing him a cup of something hot. Crowley’s fragile soap-bubble dream now burst and gone, he stopped playing mid-song. Crowley growled quietly, narrowing his eyes at the two of them. _Of **course** Raphael is here,_ he thought. _What do you need **me** for, anyway? You’ve got **him**. _Crowley stood up from where he was sitting on the ground and began to play a different song.

_We clawed, we chained our hearts in vain  
We jumped, never asking why  
We kissed, I fell under your spell  
A love no one could deny_

Crowley began walking towards Aziraphale while playing, making a wide perimeter as he circled around him, slowly moving closer into the center with each pass.

_I put you high up in the sky  
And now, you're not coming down  
It slowly turned, you let me burn  
And now, we're ashes on the ground_

He came to a stop in front of Aziraphale, glaring directly at him. _You couldn’t even wait a few hours to make sure I was gone a solid week before you called in my replacement,_ he thought.

_Don't you ever say I just walked away  
I will always want you  
I can't live a lie, running for my life  
I will always want you_

Crowley was so hurt by his own inebriated misunderstanding of the situation that he was practically screaming lyrics to Aziraphale at this point.

_I came in like a wrecking ball  
I never hit so hard in love  
All I wanted was to break your walls  
All you ever did was wreck me_

“It’s time to go, Aziraphale.” Raphael put his hand on Aziraphale’s lower back to guide him away through the crowd, leaving Crowley to follow behind as he continued to scream-sing, playing so aggressively he popped a string on his guitar but kept going anyway.

_I came in like a wrecking ball  
Yeah, I just closed my eyes and swung  
Left me crashing in a blazing fall  
All you ever did was wreck me  
Yeah, you wrecked me_

He stopped following and dropped to his knees.

_I never meant to start a war  
I just wanted you to let me in  
I guess I should've let you win_

Crowley watched, still on his knees, as Aziraphale and Raphael disappear into the crowd.

_Don't you ever say I just walked away  
I will always want you_

“That was a lot,” Raphael said once the got back to Aziraphale’s flat with a takeaway bag.

“It’s not his fault,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“It’s _absolutely_ not his fault. That’s right,” Raphael said as he unpacked assorted food containers.

Aziraphale looked at him warily but said nothing.

“So," Raphael asked as he handed Aziraphale a plate. "What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did you want to work out some tension before you came up with a plan?” Raphael asked casually, jabbing a fork into a box of rice.

“Oh, no, I’m done with all of that,” Aziraphale said, picking at his own plate. “I don’t…” He sighed. “It’s nothing personal.”

“It never is,” Raphael said without looking up. “I’m not offended or upset if you don’t want sex. I’m actually _glad_ that’s not why you called me. But I think just shutting yourself off _again_ is a mistake.”

“I don’t…” Aziraphale floundered. “A person doesn’t _have_ to have sex to be happy, Raphael.”

“You’re right. They don’t, and that’s totally valid. But that’s not _you_ , and that’s not _why_. You _know_ that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Aziraphale traced his fork around his plate, continuing to not eat as he _also_ did not respond.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?” Raphael’s voice was kind, but firm.

“I don’t know what I want, Raphael.”

I’d call that the understatement of the year, but we’re not even a day in yet. That, and it isn’t true.” Raphael took the fork out of Aziraphale’s hand. “You _know_ what you want.”

“But I can’t have it.”

Raphael sighed, looking at the ceiling for answers.

“At least I still have you,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to squeeze Raphael’s hand.

“You do, and if I have anything to say about it, you always will. But I’m not who you want, am I?”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side with a miserable expression on his face. “You know I can’t answer that question in a way that doesn’t hurt someone.”

“If it’s _me_ you’re worried about hurting, you needn’t be.”

“Raphael, I—”

“I know, Aziraphale. I know you love me, and I love you as well. But we both know that the love you and I share is different.” Raphael ran fingers along the pale curls of Aziraphale’s hair with a sad look. “You’ve closed yourself off for so long. When you first let me in, you were happy. That was _easy_. We grew up together. You were my best friend. We had already been close for _years_. It was effortless, back then.” Raphael turned to look over Aziraphale’s face with a smile. “But you’ve spent over half of your life with the decision that you’d never love again. You locked yourself away and built wall after wall to separate yourself. You stacked the deck against all odds.” He looked away, saying the next part in a near-whisper. “Even me.”

Raphael leaned over to throw an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “And he was a perfect stranger. But some force brought the two of you together. Something inside of you that you’ve tried to suppress _for years_ cried out for its missing piece when you found him. He brought you to _life,_ Aziraphale. That man brought you back from the dead. You fell in love with him in all of the incredible and ineffable ways that people throughout history have only written and dreamed about. And you don’t even know how rare and beautiful a love like that is, because you’ve pushed everyone else away for so long. A love like that—”

“They’ll kill him, Raphael,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I can’t watch…” Aziraphale’s eyes glistened as he traced the scar on Raphael’s face gently. “I can’t let that happen.”

Green eyes, soft and open, met the dark, hardened hazel that Aziraphale had hidden behind for so long. “You can’t just make that decision for him. Do you honestly think that if he knew, he wouldn’t choose you anyway?”

“It’s _because_ he would that I have to do this,” Aziraphale said with sad determination. “They’ll destroy him.”

Raphael arched an eyebrow. “And you think this _won’t_?”

An angry glare flickered across Aziraphale’s face before almost immediately being replaced by a look of mournful remorse. “He’ll survive it.”

“But will he _heal_?”

Aziraphale shrugged almost imperceptibly. “You seemed to do a pretty good job of it.”

“Hmm,” Raphael looked away as he sighed softly. “It took a long time. A lot longer than you realize. Time and a lot of therapy. Which, by the way, I think _you_ would benefit from.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Seems a bit off-brand, doesn’t it? You said it yourself, I don’t open up to people.”

“You _could_. Just a suggestion. It has been a lifesaver to me. But getting back to my initial point, more importantly, I knew what happened. I _knew_ what the catalyst was. I knew the reason, or at least part of it, of why you pushed me away.” Raphael’s eyes flicked back towards Aziraphale. “He _doesn’t_.”

“I hardly think that’s relevant here.”

Raphael was oddly quiet, as if trying to decide how, or even _if_ , he should respond. Once he spoke, his voice was stoically quiet. “ _I_ hardly think _you_ have the right or the capacity to decide that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I didn’t think it was. But you need to know, that’s basically what you _said_ and _did_ without intending to do so. And I know you believe that you’re doing the right thing, that your intentions are good. But they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. You need to understand that when you make these decisions, you’re deciding _you_ know better and removing the choice from anyone else.” Raphael stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m preparing myself,” Raphael said, leaning on his cane, “Because once I make this next point, you’re going to want me to leave.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale scoffed. “Sit down, please.”

“You’ve held love to the stone in sacrifice for decades. You say it’s to protect others,” Raphael said with quiet determination. “But I think you’re martyring yourself to hide, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s face shifted between shock, betrayal, anger, and then finally to guilt. “You’re right,” he replied in a whisper. “I _would_ like you to leave.”

Was Raphael right? Aziraphale didn’t think that was what he was doing, but he hadn’t ever considered how it looked from the other side. He had only ever focused on protecting, or so he thought. Was that an excuse?

It couldn’t be. He _wanted_ Crowley. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to say this to Raphael, but when they had ended things all those years ago, he hadn’t considered going back until Raphael made the first move.

Aziraphale was drawn to Crowley like a moth to a flame.

Linda and Raphael walked into The Inferno to see how Crowley was doing and to give Aziraphale some time alone to think about what Raphael had said earlier that afternoon.

_Love of my life, you've hurt me  
You've broken my heart  
And now you leave me_

Crowley was seated at the piano in simple, slinky black top and trousers. Rather than the elaborate makeup of the prior night, all he had on his face tonight was a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick  
_  
Love of my life, can't you see?  
Bring it back, bring it back  
Don't take it away from me  
Because you don't know  
What it means to me  
  
_

Linda couldn’t help but notice the empty cups on the piano ledge.

_  
Love of my life, don't leave me  
You've taken my love  
You now desert me_

Crowley swayed as he played and sang, keeping his eyes closed after shaking his head gently when the movement became too much for his blurry eyes.

It had been a long 24 hours. _  
  
Love of my life, can't you see?  
Bring it back, bring it back  
Don't take it away from me  
Because you don't know  
What it means to me_

Crowley saw them as he turned around. _We have got to turn this piano so I can see the door,_ he thought. _This is getting ridiculous._

Crowley staggered over to the bar. 

"Talisker, please."

He made his way to sit down at Linda and Raphael’s table. “Well,” he said to the two of them. “I had no intention of sitting here, yet here I’ve landed." He downed half of his glass before continuing. "Why are _you_ here?” He said, finishing both his thought and his beverage.

“I thought you couldn’t drink,” Linda commented.

“I’ve been doing a lot of things I thought I couldn’t do lately,” Crowley said, tracing his finger around the rim of his empty glass as he nodded towards the bar for another.

“Isn’t Talisker a little strong to be drinking so quickly? Maybe you need to slow down a bit,” Raphael said with a worried frown.

Crowley looked at him incredulously. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are to suggest what I need?”

“Someone who has been in your shoes,” Raphael said, unperturbed.

“Is that so?” Crowley looked up to nod as the waiter placed another glass in front of him before directing his attention back to Raphael. “And how do you figure that?”

“Because the same thing happened to me.”

“Oh, it did, did it?” Crowley said in mock shock. “Let me ask you _thisss_ ,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes. “When this _same thing_ happened to you, did he immediately call his ex? The one he’s been _fucking_ for over two decades? Because unless _that_ happened to _you_ , too, this isn’t the same thing _at all_. Seems to me that if he wants someone to fuck and talk about old timesss, he’s already got _you_ for that. He’s not going to need me. You’ve got thirty sssome-odd years of history, or however long you two have known each other. I didn’t even get to finish out _two_.” Crowley laughed sourly. “I’ve barely been gone a, a few hours shy of a week, and you’re already _here_.” He stood up from the table, draining his glass as Linda watched uncomfortably. “Now, if you’ll excussse me, I need to get back to work or I won’t have a place to ssstay tonight.”

As Crowley took his first somewhat wobbly step back to the stage, Raphael called out to him. “You have every right to be upset right now.”

“I don’t need your blesssing to be upssset,” Crowley hissed as he spun back around, his face contorting as his eyes threatened to spill over. “I don’t need _anything_ from you,” he spat out with a frown. “Nothing.” Crowley shut his eyes tightly trying to block the tears, grabbing a napkin from the table to dab at his eyes so his mascara didn’t run. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Almost nothing, anyway,” he said in a half-whisper, turning back to stumble over to the stage. He sat down harshly on the bench with his back to the piano and leaned over to grab the shiny black and red guitar next to it. Looking towards the bar, he held up two fingers and nodded. Struggling to loop the snake-skin patterned strap over his shoulder, Crowley focused on Raphael with an angry glare as he began to play.

_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene  
I'm begging of you please don't take my man  
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene  
Please don't take him just because you can_

_Your beauty is beyond compare  
With flaming locks of auburn hair  
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green  
Your smile is like a breath of spring  
Your voice is soft like summer rain  
And I cannot compete with you  
Jolene_

“Should we go?” Linda asked softly.

“No, not yet,” Raphael replied. “Let him vent.”

_And I can easily understand  
How you could easily take my man  
But you don't know what he means to me  
Jolene_

“Are you all right?” Linda slipped Raphael’s hand into her own.

“I’m a lot better than he is right now,” he said to her with a sad smile. Raphael turned his attention back to Crowley. What was once an angry glare had turned into a desperate gaze of pleading.

_You could have your choice of men  
But I could never love again  
He's the only one for me  
Jolene_

“He was right, you know,” Raphael said, sipping his scotch and soda. “I don’t know what he’s going through, not really. I know he’s feeling every bit as devastated as I was when Aziraphale left _me_.” He lifted Linda’s had to kiss the back of it. “But do you remember how terrified and insecure _you_ felt around Aziraphale when things were still so new between us?”

“It wasn’t Aziraphale, but the _idea_ of him, of what you two had, that terrified me,” Linda said, nodding.

_I had to have this talk with you  
My happiness depends on you  
And whatever you decide to do  
Jolene_

“Right now, he’s got every bit of that fear you had, compounded by _more_ time, and it’s all packed tight and festering in the wound Aziraphale left, and what Aziraphale won’t tell him about why. I know _that_ wound all too well. And believe me when I tell you, _that_ was the hardest thing I’ve ever healed from.” Raphael sighed. “Now that I’m on the other side of it, I can see why Aziraphale thought it was a mercy in my case. It _wasn’t_ , but I _see_ the faulty logic in it.”

Linda rested her chin on her hand, listening.

Raphael took another sip of his drink and continued. “Aziraphale still feels guilty about everything, too. Not leaving, but the attack. He apologizes to me about it every single time I visit, Linda. He has been _agonizing_ over something he didn’t do for the last quarter of a century. And it breaks my heart that they’re in this position now.”

“I think sometimes you forget that I don’t share that shorthand understanding you have with Aziraphale,” Linda said pointedly. “I still don’t know what’s going on.”

Raphael looked miserable as he leaned back in his chair. He locked eyes with Linda for a few seconds before making the decision to share with her. “It was Gabe.”

“Gabe found out about them?” Linda asked.

“No,” he replied quietly, looking down at the table. “Gabe doesn’t know that Aziraphale isn’t straight, nor does he know that Crowley was his partner.”

There was a pause before Linda let out a little gasp. “ _Oh_.”

“When Aziraphale went to his mother’s house for Christmas dinner, Aziraphale found out that Gabe and his friend were responsible for putting Crowley in the hospital. He said they threatened to finish the job if they ever saw Crowley around him. Aziraphale ended things with Crowley that evening when they both got home.” Raphael took a long sip from his drink. He grimaced, clearing his throat before he continued. “And Crowley doesn’t know _any_ of that, because Aziraphale thinks it will be worse if he tells him.”

“But that’s—”

“I can see his point, Linda, but I don’t agree with it. I don’t think it’s his decision to make. But I _know_ it isn’t _mine_. Nothing I say to Crowley right now is going to be of any help. Not when he’s convinced I’m the competition.”

“You know I’m not going to be upset with you either way, but I feel like I should ask. _Are_ you competition?”

Raphael smiled at her fondly. “No,” he said. “I asked Aziraphale if he needed that sort of support earlier after explained everything to me. He says he’s done with all of that now, that Crowley was the last. In a way, I’m glad, because had I thought he truly would have accepted it, I never would have offered.” Raphael huffed a breath through his nose. “And it’s tragic that he’s closing himself off again. I believe him, too.”

“But the two of you worked something out.” Linda reached up to caress Raphael’s face supportively. “Do you think they could?”

“He loves Crowley in a way that I don’t think either of them understand fully. And I feel fairly confident that Crowley loves him just as strongly. I don’t think Aziraphale’s going to get past this, not if he keeps this up, and the guilt is going to eat him alive.”

Linda looked once more at the empty glass with Crowley’s lipstick print left behind on their table, nodding towards it. “Do you think _he’ll_ be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Raphael said gently. “But I _do_ know he needs to get this out, or it’s going to take him to a _very_ bad place.” He looked at Linda with eyes darkened by the memories of his own reactions years ago.

“Are _you_ all right?” Linda asked tentatively.

“No, not really,” Raphael glanced up briefly to meet her eyes. This whole experience had dredged up memories that Raphael had been trying to bury for decades. But more than that, he had been so _happy_ that Aziraphale and Crowley had found one another. Any role he had, even without intending it, in keeping them apart tore at his own soul. “I think, after we leave London this time, I shouldn’t see Aziraphale again until they straighten this out. I won’t be a crutch _or_ a wedge. But the _difference_ here,” Raphael drained his glass, “Is that _I’m_ going to _explain_ this to Aziraphale before we head back home. Maybe some of it will sink in and resonate.”

Linda nodded. Suddenly aware the music had stopped several minutes prior, they looked up to see Crowley leaning forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at them with a forlorn, but vacant, expression. There was an empty glass in his hand that threatened to drop at any moment, along with another empty beside him on the bench.

A dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit stepped over to Crowley, leaning down to whisper in his ear as he took the empty glass out of Crowley’s hand. It seemed to take a few seconds for Crowley to register the man was there, finally looking up at him with a startled expression. Crowley shook his head and pointed towards Raphael and Linda. The man appeared to say something else, looking towards them, but Crowley just shrugged and sighed, looking off into the distance.

The man approached their table. He leaned over and quietly spoke. “I’m going to politely ask that the two of you leave right now. Your tab is covered.”

He walked back up to the stage before addressing the entire lounge. “I do apologize for the inconvenience, but we’ll be closing in a quarter hour. There will be no more music, and no more drinks served tonight. Please see to your tabs, collect your things, and have a wonderful evening. You’ll receive a free drink voucher for your next visit on your way out.”

He walked back over to Crowley, whispering in his ear again before helping him up. He put Crowley’s arm around his own shoulder to support him while holding Crowley by the waist to walk him out of the lounge through the employees only door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!  
> (I said what I said. <3 )  
> So, I got done with my Big Bang art a little early and decided to go ahead and post tomorrow's chapter today so I'd have time to do the last minute stuff with posting.
> 
> I know it hurts, but we're actually going to be moving towards a bit more fun now. There's still going to be some hurt, because this is the Hell part of the journey, but there's going to be some fun, too.
> 
> See you soon!


	21. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a party in Hell, and you're invited. BYOT (Bring Your Own Tire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Steam Powered Giraffe - Latum Alterum (Ya Ya Ya) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8g9RAmR4DM)  
> [Queen Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R44FQ2BN2PA)
> 
> Relax. Have a nice time. ;)

Louis took Crowley out of the lounge and into the business office in the back room of The Inferno. It wasn’t his main office, which was located in the penthouse of the hotel behind the lounge, but it was nearby and had an extremely comfortable couch for someone to sleep off a drunken stupor.

When Crowley finally woke up the next day, he was surprised to find himself not only in Louis’s office, but with Louis there as well. Crowley had no idea how he had gotten there, nor had he any clue as to how long Louis had been there. What he _did_ know, however, was that based on the look on Louis’s face, Crowley was about to have a _conversation_ about _all_ of it.

And he was quite close. However, the word ‘conversation’ implies that two people speak. No, this as more of a monologue. No, wait, that, too, felt incorrect to say.

The word he was looking for to describe this experience was _diatribe_.

After several minutes of explaining what happened, what shouldn’t have happened, and what was done to repair it, Louis continued.

“Now, I’ll happily keep providing you with as much as you can drink, but you know _everything_ comes at a price,” Louis explained, reaching over to trace a finger along the edge of Crowley’s jaw. “It’s up to you which way you use that pretty mouth of yours to pay it.” Louis lifted Crowley’s chin with his fingertips. “Either way, I need you to be clear enough to focus on what you’re doing.” He pulled his hand away with a sigh, standing up to walk back around the desk to sit back in his chair. “I’ll forgive last night. I understand what happened. I don’t have a problem with you having a drink while you’re working. That’s why I opened your tab. The only other employees of mine that get to drink in their contracts are the upstairs entertainment. _Your_ bar tab is a privilege, not a right. If what you did last night happens again, you’ll go back to buying your own, and not while you’re on the job. Do you understand?”

Crowley nodded, looking at the floor.

“Wonderful. Now that all that _dreadful_ business is past us,” Louis said with a roll of his eyes, “I’ve taken you off of the schedule for the next few days.”

Crowley’s head shot up. “No, wait! No, but I—”

“Relax,” Louis held up his hand to silence him. “You need some time to _relax_ , that’s all. You don’t have to leave. I’d rather you take a little time to get your head on straight.” Louis grinned. “Well, straight _enough_ , anyway.”

Crowley looked nervously at Louis, unsure of what to expect next.

“That being said, now that I know you’re off work, I’m throwing a little party Saturday night, only a few people. I’d like you to be there.”

“Did you have a type of music you’d like me to play in mind?”

“No, no, darling. You won’t be entertaining. You’ll be a _guest_.”

“Crowley!” Dana called after him as he left Louis’s office.

“What?” He replied, covering his eyes as the combination of light and The Voice Of Dagon proved to be too much to handle during this particular hangover.

“I wanted to ask you something the night before last, but you left before I had a chance,” Dana said, her eyes wide with excitement. “Do you like burlesque?” She politely did not mention she had wanted to talk to him about it yesterday morning, but he was in no position to discuss anything at the time, and she had been rather distracted enough by taking his car keys.

“Course I do. What’s not to like?”

“I have it on good authority that there’s a spot open in a certain local troupe.”

“A spot… Open?” Wheels began to turn in Crowley’s mind. Dana wasn’t talking about _watching_ a show. His eyebrows lifted. “Do you mean _performing_ in one?" 

“Yes! You’ll still have to try out, but I can sponsor you to get you into the rehearsal.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side, still processing everything. "Sponsor? What are you on about? Why would I need a sponsor? And what... Just what?" His nose wrinkled in his confusion.

“I’m a _Jezebel_ ,” Dana proudly beamed. “Are you interested?”

The wheels finally clicked into place. The Jezebels had been around for _decades_ , but membership was extremely exclusive. There was a velvet rope, multiple chains, barbed wire, a pool of boiling Sulphur, and a pack of hell hounds guarding the entrance into that troupe. “ _Yes_ , I am!” Crowley replied with excitement.

“Perfect! I’ll set it up. I’ll let you know when your audition is tonight at Louis’s party,” Dana said as they began walking to their respective hotel rooms on the ground floor. “You _are_ going, aren’t you?”

“I am _now_.”

One thing Crowley appreciated about Louis’s parties was that he only served top shelf liquor, fancy pastries with international origins, and the most fascinatingly eclectic assortment of nibbles from upscale restaurants and greasy spoon hole in the wall restaurants. Unfortunately, this also meant seeing one of Aziraphale’s favorites. _A pastry,_ Crowley thought miserably _. I’m reduced to a sniveling mess via the sight of a blasted pastry, for fuck’s sake._

And so, he avoided the food.

And then he drank.

Crowley, so far overflowed out of the cups he had been into all evening, found that he couldn’t manage to get out of the floor. To Dana’s amusement, he once again earned the nickname she had given him long ago.

“Look at ‘im! Look at ‘im go! He’s crawling! That’s why your name is Crowley.” Dana shook her head. “No, no. Wait. Crawley. Your name is _Crawley_. Because you _crawl_. Like a snake.”

Crowley flopped over onto his back, knocking a few things down off of a shelf. “Snakes don’t crawl,” he said, struggling to put things back on the shelf beside him.

“Sure they do, Crawley. Don’t they?” Dana asked, growing more concerned towards the end of her sentence.

“Can’t,” he replied. “Haven’t got any legsss.”

“Do you mean they’re invertebrates?”

“I do _not_ ,” he said, trying to focus his eyes on the ukulele that kept falling down beside him. “Snakes are _exssstremely_ … Vertebrate. ver ** _teb_** ral. _Flush_ with vertebrae, if you will. Bit excessive, really, but what can you do?” He took a deep drink from the cup that had miraculously not spilled. “Anyway, they haven’t got legs.”

“So, you’re not a snake, then, Crawley?”

“I never said that.”

“But you’ve got legs,” Dana helpfully reminded him.

He looked down with surprise. “So I have! Must’ve traded in some vertebralsss for them.” Crowley grinned at Dana with his tongue sticking out between his teeth. He propped up a bit to look at his own smooth legs in the cut-off denim shorts. “They’re quite nice, actually, if you don’t look at the mess over here,” he said, running his hand along his upper thigh where a collection of scars that, though faded some over the past almost two years, were still angry and red.

“That they are,” came the voice of someone Crowley didn’t know.

Unsure of the name attached to the face he couldn’t see clearly, he simply grinned, raising his glass towards the compliment just before drinking the rest of it. Crowley thought he said his name was Carl, probably, but the guy just wasn’t all that important to him.

“Play us a song, Craw-Crowley!” Dana shouted gleefully.

“On what? Thisss?” He held up the tiny ukulele.

“You sayin’ you can’t do it?” Dana’s voice taunted.

“Can’t do it? _‘Course_ I can do it. I can do _anything_ ,” Crowley said with a grin, struggling to sit up. Failing at that, he leaned back down, clutching the ukulele to his chest, and began to strum.

_When you wake up afright, when your mind is alight  
When you’re shaking your hips on a Saturday night  
I wanna tell you from me you are all that I see  
And the beast in your head won’t keep you from me_

“That’s right, you _tell_ that angel,” Dana slurred, dancing around the room holding her cup and jangling the keys looped around her finger in a rhythm.

_I wanna go  
I wanna see the other side  
I lauded all day for much too long  
Tied down my words to sing a song_

_I wanna know  
I wanna see another world  
It feels like I’ve only got one shot  
Lost all my aim to rotten thoughts_

The man Crowley didn’t recognize had moved closer to him. Crowley didn’t think much about it. He realized he wasn’t seeing things too clearly at the moment, and Louis wouldn’t stand for trouble at his parties, so he shrugged it off and continued to play.

_There’s a place in the dark, where your pain can be parked  
When you’re shaking your bones trying to light up a spark   
You can always be free when you lie next to me  
And the screams in your skull might fill you with glee_

He paused for a moment, taking a drink from his cup.

_When you’re all out of fuel, and the world is so cruel  
You’re fighting the beast in an end-a-less duel  
We need to look into the mirror  
We need to see the skies much clearer_

Crowley felt a hand sliding up from his knee, fingers slipping just below the jagged hem of his cut off shorts. He couldn’t quite focus his eyes enough to tell who it was, but he knew that, whoever it belonged _to_ , that hand didn’t belong _there_. He stopped playing, lifting the ukulele like a club and made as if to swing it.

Louis snapped his fingers. “Asture,” he said, pointing to the spectacle.

A blonde man nodded, taking a drag off of his cigarette before stepping over to put it out on the offending hand. The unfamiliar man yelped as two men, one of them the blonde smoker, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The men laughed wickedly while they dragged him away from Crowley and out of the room.

“Bye, Carl!” Dana laughed.

“You can finish your song now, Crowley,” Louis said gently. “He won’t be back to bother you again.”

“Right, o-okay, yeah, I can do that.” Crowley said, blinking blurred eyes before beginning to play once more.

_Oh, if you feel you’re lost at sea  
Just take your eyes off me  
And the beast will set you free_

Crowley tried to focus his eyes again, instead opting to close them and sprawl out in the floor on his back, belting out the next lyrics.

_I wanna go, I wanna see  
I lauded all day for much too long  
I gotta know if I’m too far gone  
Ooo-hoo_

_I wanna know-oh-oh  
I wanna knoooooow  
I wanna know-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho_

It was February 2nd, and in spite of the pouring rain, Crowley was in the first good mood he had been in since Christmas. The first good mood while sober, anyway. He had spent most of the day going around the different shops on errands. Some for himself, such as replacement guitar strings, sheet music, and such like. He didn’t even mind running errands at some of the most _interesting_ shops in Soho for Dana, along with picking up something cute to wear for his upcoming stint with the Jezebels. He had already discussed it with Louis, who had been in the habit of making sure Dana had those nights off. Louis thought it was an excellent idea and assured him that he would have any nights he needed free. Crowley was _excited_. It was nice to have something to look forward to again. 

_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things  
We can do the tango just for two  
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings  
Be your Valentino just for you_

He happily tapped his fingers along on the steering wheel to the piano tune, bouncing slightly as he sang along with the radio.

_Ooh love ooh lover boy  
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy  
Set my alarm, turn on my charm  
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy_

“This might be nice to set a routine to,” Crowley mused aloud as he daydreamed about his first upcoming rehearsal.

_Ooh let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster)  
Ooh ooh can you feel my love heat, ooh  
Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love  
And tell me how do you feel right after-all_

“Oh, _no,"_ Crowley groaned, tilting his head.

_I'd like for you and I to go romancing  
Say the word, your wish is my command_

He had just passed Aziraphale on the side of the road, walking and dragging a flat tire. “This is not my job anymore. I don’t have to do this. I _don’t_.”

He kept driving, but slower than before.

_When I'm not with you  
I think of you always  
(I miss those long hot summer nights) I miss you  
When I'm not with you  
Think of me always  
I love you, love you_

“I can’t just leave him on the side of the road like that, can I?” Crowley asked Freddie Mercury through the car radio.

_I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of lover boys_

Crowley pulled over and stopped the car. He lightly banged his forehead against the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he considered his options.

On the one hand, he really _did_ want to see Aziraphale again, in spite of everything. On the other hand, he had been doing so well this week, after the mess on New Year’s Day. Having thus far run out of hands to tally reasoning on, he stomped his foot instead. _Fuck Aziraphale and the Raphael he rode in on._ Crowley almost had himself convinced until he glanced in his rear-view mirror to see the soggy, miserable mess in the distance.

_Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely  
Just take me back to yours that will be fine_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Crowley huffed along with the tune.

_Ooh love, (there he goes again just like a good old-fashioned lover boy)  
Ooh lover boy  
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy_

He turned the car around with a grunt and a whine.

_  
Everything's all right  
Just hold on tight_

Crowley sighed in defeat. “I’m on my way, Angel.”

_That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned lover boy_

“Oi! Shut it, you,” he grumbled at the dashboard as he slapped the knob to turn it off.

The heavy rain had just stopped when Crowley pulled over on the road across from Aziraphale. He put his window down just as a lorry passed on the opposite lane at break-neck speed, sending a gust of wind and a crashing wave of muddy water hard enough to almost knock Aziraphale over.

“Animals!” Aziraphale yelled, drenched and shaking a fist towards the offending vehicle as it disappeared down the road.

“Animals don't splash each other with large vehicles, Angel. Only humans do that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yipped at the sound of his voice.

Crowley got out of the car, looked both ways, and sauntered across the road towards him.

”Oh, good lord,” Aziraphale said with a weary sigh and a roll of his eyes.

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale. _You aren’t the only one who can show up unannounced and uninvited,_ he thought wickedly to himself. _It’s about time **you** were the one out of sorts. Turnabout is fair play_. He casually looked Aziraphale up and down, noticing the chain Aziraphale was holding looped around his wrist, the other end hooked around the tire. “What the deuce are you doing locked up with a Bridgestone?”

“I had a flat tire.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why didn't you just call someone and go home?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale showed him his phone. “Battery’s dead,” he replied.

“So you thought you’d just chain up your tire and drag it to the nearest repair shop, dressed like that?”

“I _hardly_ had an opportunity to change into something else,” Aziraphale huffed haughtily. “It’s not as if I _planned_ for a tire puncture, Crowley.”

“You _should_ have,” Crowley interjected without inflection.

“You never know when these things could happen,” Aziraphale answered with irritation.

“I told _you_ that. And then I told you that you needed a spare,” Crowley said as he helped Aziraphale drag the tire to his car, opening the boot when they got there.

“Yes, yes, I know. You’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, realizing he was cranky because he was tired, sore, cold, and wet, and not because of anything Crowley had said. Well, mostly not. Just because Crowley was _right_ didn’t mean either of them had to be particularly _happy_ about it. “I really _do_ need to get another tire.” Aziraphale hoisted the tire he had been dragging up to load it into the boot.

In spite of knowing full well that Aziraphale was strong enough to lift _him_ , Crowley couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to help lift and load the tire. He felt the hard muscle-flex of Aziraphale’s arm against his own as they brushed together, leaning into the boot. Aziraphale’s arms were one of Crowley’s favorite things. He did his level best to put a pin in _that_ thought until later when he had a moment to himself and a door with a lock and no open windows. He had bigger problems just then.

Aziraphale was, once again, wearing Crowley’s ring at a time when he had no idea he’d be seeing Crowley at all. The same ring he took off at The Inferno. He had put it back on.

“Well, you're lucky I was in the area,” Crowley said instead, trying to sound unbothered by the whole situation as he reached for one of the towels he kept in the back of his car for emergencies, handing it to Aziraphale.

“I suppose I am.” Aziraphale brushed his hands off, then scrubbed the towel across his hair and face. “Why are you here?”

“My lot sent me on a few errands since I was already going to be out. I needed a few things for my, uh, next performance.” There was no need to mention that the performance in question was a rehearsal for a burlesque dance troupe. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about it, not at all. He just didn’t want to have a conversation like that with Aziraphale until he could figure out how to move past the way he was feeling, especially after seeing the ring again.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the cat-o-nine tails that had slid out of the bag in the back seat. “So all this is your work?” He said with a bit of shock to his voice.

Realizing what Aziraphale was looking at, Crowley quickly interjected. “No! A friend asked me to pick that up for her while I was out! That’s one of the errands! S’got nothing to do with me.” They both got in the car.

Aziraphale closed the car door and put on his safety belt. “Well, I suppose I should say thank you for the, uh, rescue.” He rubbed the wrists that were sore from dragging a tire looped on a chain for the last half hour.

“Don't say that,” Crowley replied, gripping the wheel tight.

“Well, anyway, I'm very grateful.”

“Meh,” Crowley grunted.

Aziraphale, recognizing that Crowley had no intention of accepting his thanks, looked at Crowley with a hint of the bastard within as he huffed.“Yes, well, of course. I’m sure you would have done it for anyone.”

“Don’t mistake pity for love,” Crowley muttered under his breath, shaking his head mockingly.  
  
  


They reached the repair shop and took the tire inside. Crowley sat in the lobby looking at magazines while Aziraphale spoke with the service people. He figured the decent thing to do was to give him a lift back to his car once the tire was repaired. He was already here, after all. It wasn't like it was an _excuse_ to be around Aziraphale again. Well, it _was_ , but it was a _good_ one, at least.

Aziraphale came back into the lobby. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I buy you lunch? Purely to, to, uh, return the favor, of course.”

Crowley shook his head, scrunching his nose up. “Nah. Not hungry. Could use something to drink, though.”

They wandered down the hallway towards the vending area, side by side. Crowley walked with his hands in his pockets while Aziraphale kept his hands clasped behind his back, both desperately trying not to reach for the other.

Crowley became quite distracted while Aziraphale was making a desperate bid for small talk as he danced around every subject _but_ their breakup. Crowley’s thoughts kept going back towards the ring.

Thinking back, though he barely remembered it, he tried to picture how Aziraphale looked on New Year’s Day in Covent Gardens. Was Aziraphale wearing the ring, then, after taking it off in front of him the night before? Crowley thought he could _almost_ see a glint of gold on Aziraphale’s right hand in his memory, but he couldn’t be sure. He had been terribly drunk, terribly angry, and terribly distracted.

There had been a chance that at least one out of that trio had known Crowley would be playing piano at The Inferno on New Year’s Eve. His name was listed on the Facebook event page. That could have easily been a setup by any of them. Crowley wasn’t really sure how that would have made a difference in whether or not Aziraphale had decided, consciously or unconsciously, to wear the ring or not, but it felt like it might have been an important detail if he could figure out what it _meant_.

Aziraphale dragging a tire through Soho in the rain while Crowley was there picking up a set of custom-made pleasure and pain aids for his friend the dominatrix, well, that was all coincidence. If there had been a plan in place for _that_ , it was clearly one that was beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.

“You know, Crowley, it’s really rather nice to have a friend like you to—”

Crowley had suddenly had enough. That was too much. He couldn't feel the way he was feeling and hear Aziraphale call him a friend. They had been friends when they were together. Friends were good. But not here, not _now_. Not with so many questions going through his mind.

He grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels of his coat, slamming him against the wall. “Shut it. You said it yourself. I’m not your _friend_. I’m your ex, remember? And I’m not nice,” Crowley growled, nose-to-nose with Aziraphale. “I’m never nice. To me, coming from you, friend is a four-letter word. I will not have—” He stopped speaking when he noticed where Aziraphale’s eyes were focused. Just because Crowley was thinking about that, too, didn’t mean it was a good idea. He was still angry. He didn’t _want_ to be another plaything. He wanted all of it. The touching, the laughter, the jokes, the companionship, the sex, the kissing, the love. He wanted that love so much. He knew it was still in there, somewhere. That had to be what the ring meant, right?

It was hard enough being near Aziraphale _without_ mixed signals like calling him nice and looking at his lips as if he wanted to kiss him. It certainly wouldn’t help matters for Crowley to kiss him back, and he _would_ have kissed him back. _No_ , Crowley thought, _if Aziraphale wants to kiss someone, he has Raphael for that._

Holy _fuck_ , but he still wanted to kiss him, though. And based on the direction of his blood flow, his body wanted it, too, among other things. Even the sunlight was against him. The light had begun to shift just right through the window to light up that blessed halo of curls, now frizzy and everywhere from not being carefully Azirapinched after being wet.

It was everything Crowley could do not to just reach up and slip his fingers through the wild hair. It was the same way his hair often looked after a particularly extended and/or strenuous bedroom session. Crowley wanted nothing more than to feel that dandelion fluff that glowed like a summer sunset between his fingers and pull him close enough to press his lips—

Crowley stepped back from Aziraphale suddenly with a sharp inhale through his nose. He cleared his throat and pulled his phone out of his pocket, only breaking eye contact long enough to scroll through his contacts. The name was at the top of the list, anyway, so it wasn’t a very long break. Looking once again into Aziraphale’s eyes, he hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Anathema? Aziraphale is stranded at a tire shop and needs a lift. Can Newt come pick him up? Yeah? Great, thanks. I’ll text you the address.”

After the call ended, Crowley quickly took a photo of a business card with the business name and address, texted it to Anathema, put the phone back in his pocket, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, one of my Bang projects was postponed, and I found myself with a bit more time today. It is ALSO International Fanworks Day, and as I had this pretty much already written (just needed a few connecting bits) I decided to post it today even though I posted one yesterday.
> 
> Plus, I thought you all might appreciate a bit less angst here and there.
> 
> You can have a little fun, as a treat.


	22. Here All Suspicion Must Be Abandoned, All Cowardice Must Be Extinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoeboxes filled with memories

“Crowley!” The voice boomed across the hallway.

Crowley clutched his chest and spun around. “Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, Dana! You’re not on the clock! Stop using that eldritch power of yours for evil. You’ll give me a heart attack at this rate!”

Dana waggled her eyebrows with a grin as she ran to catch up to him. “Are you busy? Louis wants to see us in his office. He told me to collect you and come upstairs.”

“Oh, did he, now? I’ve told him—”

“Oh, do calm down,” Dana swatted at him gently. “It’s about the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right, then,” he said, offering his elbow. “Shall we?”

“I can’t accept this," Crowley said, sliding the brown shoebox back across Louis's desk. "It’s too extravagant of a gift. The jacket was the limit.” 

“Don’t think of it as a gift, darling," Louis said, sliding the box back to Crowley. "For me, it’s an _investment_. Many of my clients attend these shows. _Both_ of you represent my interests here. And you _know_ that I like for my entertainers to look the part,” 

“And _you_ know I don’t do _that_ sort of entertaining.”

“Your mouth pays your bills, regardless of which building you work in, Crowley,” Louis said with a Cheshire grin.

Crowley let out a snort of derision. He absolutely _hated_ when Louis put it like that, which only encouraged him to continue to do so.

“Besides,” Louis continued, “You’re the first face many of the clients see when they come into the lounge to wait for their appointments.”

Crowley grimaced. “I don’t know, Louis. This seems a bit much. I haven’t even started yet.”

“But you were _accepted_. That’s something to _celebrate_. And Dana made it all possible. That’s something to be _rewarded_ ,” Louis smiled at Dana, who only looked away from her shoebox long enough to grin dopily back. “And it might be better for you to learn your routines in the shoes so you’re used to wearing them when you perform.”

“That’s true,” Dana pointed out. “Depending on what you’re doing, you might move differently based on the height of your heel and the way you hold your foot in it. You don’t want to misjudge something in the middle of your act.”

“Nnnnnnnngk,” Crowley drew out an elongated whine, considering it. He could just as easily wear the boots he already had for that, solving that same problem. Crowley’s lips drew back as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head no.

“Dana, can you believe that Crowley is suggesting you can’t have your pretty new boots?” The corner of Louis’s lip quirked as he quickly met Crowley’s gaze.

“Wha- Uh, er, uh, that’s, that’s not—” Crowley sputtered. “You did that on _purpose_!”

Louis pouted and looked at the ceiling innocently.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Dana said, her eyes closed while nuzzling against the spikes of her booties. “I’ve never had genuine LouBoutins given to me, or even _worn_ them, unlike _some_ of us.”

“That’s not nice,” Crowley protested. Though it _was_ accurate. After all, this wasn’t the first time Louis had gifted a pair of Louboutin shoes to him. Crowley put the lid back on the shoebox with a sigh, taking it off of the desk to hold in his lap.

Everything came with a price.

Crowley walked into the auditorium with his bag slung over his shoulder, looking around at the other dancers stretching out. Spotting a familiar face flitting about between the group, his eyes grew as wide as his smile.

“Tracy?”

An older woman with hennaed hair and a bright-pink poncho spun around, clapping her hands as soon as she recognized him. “Mr. Crowley! It’s so good to see you again.” Tracy rushed over to give him a hug, which he eagerly returned. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said, biting his lip with a smile and wiggling them both side to side before pulling back from their hug.

She brushed a lock of hair off of his face. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? I’m one of the performers,” Crowley grinned proudly.

“Oh, Dana said we were expecting a new recruit!”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Crowley asked, eyes wide with excitement. “Are you one of the Jezebels, too?”

“Oh, no, dear. Not anymore. _Retired_ Jezebel.” Tracy leaned in to whisper to Crowley. “Takes me half an hour to squeeze into the leather pinny, and my knees,” she shrugged with a smile, “aren’t what they were.” She winked at him as she continued to speak with higher volume and a flourish of her hand. “I’m the choreographer!”

Crowley nodded with an impressed pout while he scanned his eyes across the group, finally spotting Dana. He waved to her.

Dana walked over. “I see you’ve met Madame Tracy.”

“Oh, is it _Madame_ now?” Crowley grinned, turning back to her.

She grinned back. “Has been for quite some time, though the description changed a bit over the years. I used to go by Marjorie, but I never particularly cared for it. I find I quite like being Tracy much better.” She smiled warmly. “Speaking of, have you come up with your character yet?”

Crowley beamed, opening one of his bags to allow her to rummage around the contents.

“Oh, this is _lovely_ ,” Tracy cooed, smoothing her fingers along the different fabrics and materials of the costume pieces.

“How do you two know one another?” Dana asked.

Tracy turned to Dana. “We used to be neighbors until recently.”

“Oh?” Dana’s eyebrows lifted, hoping to get more information.

“Mm…Y-yeah,” Crowley stammered.

“What happened between you and Mr. Aziraphale? He’s been such a mess since you left.”

“ _I_ didn’t leave _him_ ,” he hissed involuntarily, causing both women to jump. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his face with his hand.

Dana leaned over to stage-whisper to Tracy. “Apparently, Crowley’s ex has a new man in his life now,” she said. “Guess he has a type. The new bloke’s another tall ginger with a…” Her voice trailed off as she traced a line along her forehead where Raphael’s scar was.

Crowley hadn’t specifically told Dana about Raphael, but he assumed _she_ probably knew more about his little meltdown than _he_ did. Based on the bits he had overheard in hushed whispers here and there around The Inferno, the gossip had been divided. Either he had some sort of showdown on New Year’s Day with a potential love rival, or he had some dramatic meltdown because some shameless red hussy _Jolene_ done _stole_ his man. He figured there was truth to both, but _whatever_ had happened, it probably looked a lot less cool than he hoped it might have.

“Oh, the gentleman with the cane?” Tracy perked up. “They aren’t together. I overheard him and Mr. Aziraphale in the hallway as he was leaving. What was it he said?” She looked up thoughtfully before training her focus on Crowley. “Oh, right. It was something about him not coming back to London until Mr. Aziraphale made things right by you.” She turned back to Dana with a gleam in her eyes. “He said it was Mr. Crowley’s forgiveness that Mr. Aziraphale needed, and that he needed to… Well, he said if Mr. Aziraphale wanted Mr. Crowley here to take him back, he’d need to stop being,” she leaned in to whisper to Dana, “ _a little bitch_.”

Dana’s eyes widened with a grin.

Tracy continued in her regular voice. “Said he needed to fix the damage he’d done.”

Crowley’s mind began to race. Was it true? Had he been wrong about Raphael? Part of him hoped so. But there was another part of him, the part he hated to consider, that needed Tracy to be wrong. That part needed to think Aziraphale had replaced him. If Aziraphale left him for Raphael, then Aziraphale simply loved Raphael _better_. And after decades of history together, he could understand that. He didn’t _like_ it, but that thought hurt a lot less than thinking Aziraphale just didn’t love Crowley at all. Wanting to be _without_ rather than _with_ Crowley was a Hell of an action.

“Well, it would appear that you both know more about my love life than _I_ do,” Crowley said quietly, looking away from the two of them as he tried not to think more about any of the thoughts invading his mind. He already had a day coming up that was earmarked for being sad. He needed today to be a _good_ one. And it _should_ have been. This was his _happy_ day. He was not only going to be in a Burlesque show like he had wanted to do for years, but he had been accepted into one of _the_ most _exclusive_ troupes. While he had been prepared for rehearsal to be _difficult_ , it was also supposed to be _fun_. It wasn’t supposed to be a day for _this_ , whatever _this_ was.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said, hitching up his bag. “Now if you two hens insist upon clucking about me like I’m not even here, allow me to make it easier on all three of us. Is there somewhere I can _go_ to get changed?”

Tracy pointed towards a door that led to a dressing room.

“It’s good to see you again, Tracy,” Crowley nodded to her before leaving to don his rehearsal gear.

As soon as his back was turned, Dana and Tracy whispered simultaneously to each other.

“What else do you know about that?”

Changed and ready to begin, Crowley returned to find Tracy and Dana still chatting, but sitting down at a table near the refreshments. They quickly quieted down as he approached.

 _That’s unsettling_ , he thought, flipping a folding chair around backwards. It was somehow more disturbing when they _stopped_ talking around him, considering what they didn’t mind saying to his face. He sat with his customary sprawl, one foot on the seat and the other looped through the hole in the back.

Tracy clapped her hands together with excitement. “Oh, that reminds me! How are you with chair work?”

“Crowley doesn’t _understand_ how chairs work, Tracy,” Dana quipped with a wink. “As is evident by the scene before us.”

“I do _so_ ,” Crowley scoffed with a pout. “I simply choose not to follow the manufacturer’s instructions,” he said as he slid further into a sprawl.

“Ah! Well, you see, then, that’s perfect!” Tracy said excitedly. “I have an idea.”

Crowley tentatively knocked on Louis’s office door, poking his head in. “You all right in there?”

“Crowley, I was just about to text you. Come in,” Louis waved him over.

“I saw where you had removed me from tonight’s schedule.”

“Is that all right?” Louis asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I had wondered why you had put me on there at all, truthfully.”

“Ah, yes. That was an accident. Eric is still learning how to do scheduling. He didn’t know.”

Crowley nodded, sitting down in one of the sinfully-comfortable chairs in front of Louis’s desk. It had become a bit of a tradition of theirs, over the past five years, to get together on this day. He had missed it the previous year, but he remembered nonetheless, and had made sure to send Louis a text to check on him.

Louis poured two tumblers of something richly amber-colored with a slightly sweet aroma from an unlabeled crystal carafe. “So,” Louis opened with a sigh in the way these meetings always began, by speaking about anything but the _actual_ reason they were there. “What’s going on with you and that angel of yours?”

“How do _you_ know about that?” Crowley asked suspiciously, yet still accepting the drink.

“Oh, _everyone_ knows about that,” Louis looked at him with a smirk. “You… You don’t remember anything about New Year’s Day, er, night, do you?”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, yeah. No, I really don’t. But I’m guessing _you_ do. Are you going to yell at me about that again?”

“Hardly,” Louis said, taking a sip from his glass. “I just wanted to know about him, about the two of you. I know he hurt you. You made that abundantly clear that night. But there had to be _something_ there for you to have left us all behind to spend so much time with him.”

“Long story, no time.”

“We’ve got all night,” Louis said, clinking his glass against the one in Crowley’s hand.

After a few hours of drinking, discussing, and dodging the reason for the occasion, the two found themselves in the floor against the wall when there was a knock on Louis’s office door.

“What? I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” Louis yelled at the door.

“We got a problem, Lou.”

“The only problem I have is your presence here, and you will address me as _Louis_ , _Mr_. Louis, or Mr. _Eiffer_ , thank you.”

“Lou,” Crowley giggled. “A’llo, Lou. ‘Ow’re you?” He said in a cockney accent.

Louis frowned at him. “Shhh.”

“ _Mr. Eiffer_ ,” the voice spoke through the door, sarcastically. “Might I come in and have a word?”

“Don’t invite him in,” Crowley said in a panicked frenzy. “That’s a vampire trick.”

“Hal is not a _vampire_ , Crowley.”

Crowley clutched at Louis’s arm. “He drinks blood. I mean, I haven’t ss _seen_ him do it, but I just _know_ it’s something he’d do.”

“I don’t, I don’t think he does that,” Louis said with a worried look.

“And yet you don’t _deny_ it.”

“I just did.”

“No, you said you didn’t _think_ he does that. That’s not a denial. That’s as good as a confirmation,” Crowley reasoned.

“Mr. Eiffer?” The voice was more pleading now.

“Fine, fine, come in,” Louis groaned, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Now you’ve done it,” Crowley lamented.

Hal Asture opened the door and walked into the office, causing both Louis and Crowley to gag.

“What is that smell?” Louis gasped.

“That’s the problem. There’s a pipe burst. There’s… Stuff… Everywhere.”

Louis looked up at him incredulously. “Do I look like a plumber to you? Fucking _handle_ it. I’m not dealing with…” Louis grabbed his head to stop the room from spinning. “Just… Okay, from this point until I say otherwise, Eric is in charge and you have to do whatever he says.”

“That miserable little runt?” Hal sneered.

Eric was the newest member in Louis’s entourage, his dandy little _Legion of the Damned_. Louis had always had a soft spot for the fallen ones, those who society otherwise cast out or forgotten. Eric was no exception. When his family threw him out into the streets, he had barely even been adult-adjacent. Louis saw something in him, however, and gave him the opportunity for a new life and purpose. In this case, that was as his own personal assistant, and possibly his eventual replacement when he was ready to retire.

Hal couldn’t stand Eric, but given the nature of Hal’s personality, that wasn’t really a defining trait for either of them.

Louis somehow managed to look intimidating in spite of being a crumpled mess on the floor next to Crowley. “While you are quite effective at what you do, you are not at all _irreplaceable_ ,” Louis voice was rich, a dark treacle dripping from the sharpest knife. “Based upon the tone with which you’ve spoken to me over the course of this interaction, Mr. Asture, this fact appears to have slipped your notice. Do _not_ let it happen again.”

Crowley, still leaning against the wall, lolled his head lazily towards Louis. “Am I replaceable?”

“Never,” Louis said without hesitation.

“Why?”

“It’s because you _earned_ it, Crowley, didn’t you? What you did…” Louis’s voice trailed off with a sigh.

Other than that single moment where it had almost slipped out, they had sat talking about everything and nothing, never once mentioning the reason they were there, together, that night. It didn’t _need_ to be discussed. They both knew. They _both_ missed him. Each of them knowing that the other understood what they were feeling that night, that was enough. It was enough because it _had_ to be. It was all either of them had left of that little boy they both had loved so dearly.

Hal turned to leave, stopping just before he reached the door. “And for your information, _Mr. Slick_ , I‘m not a vampire.”

“Let me get my handsss on some holy water and we’ll tessst that,” Crowley replied with a hiss.

Once Hal was no longer stinking up the office, Louis and Crowley continued talking about everything but what was bothering them. Well, almost everything but.

“Call him,” Louis suggested.

“I can’t do that,” Crowley said, looking away.

“You can. You _know_ you want to, Crowley. I can _sense_ it. Call him. I’ll even tell you what to say to him, if you like.”

“Not today, Sssatan!” Crowley pointed at him, sibilating before taking another drink.

“Oh, come now, Crowley. I’m not really _that_ bad, am I?” Louis grinned and let out two exaggerated hisses through his teeth.

“You’re the Devil incarnate, isss what you are,” Crowley muttered under his breath.

Louis leaned over to whisper affectionately, “And you hissss like the Serpent of Eden when you’re drunk.”

“Oi!” Crowley retorted. “If you’re so clever, say _penguin_.”

Louis glowered at him for a moment before his features relaxed into something slick and smooth. “If I do, will you call him?”

“Say it first.”

Louis rolled his eyes, immediately regretting it. Once his head stopped spinning, he took a deep breath and leaned in to whisper into Crowley’s ear. “Pingwing.”

Crowley dissolved into drunken laughter. “How does someone who doesn’t even know how to say the word ‘ _penguin_ ’ have _any_ clue how to talk to an angel?”

“You don’t end up running places like the Inferno and the Third Circle without knowing how to handle a few angels.”

They discussed it further, Louis eventually chipping away at the fragile shell surrounding desire, planting seeds of suggestions on what to say and how to say it.

“If you want me to call, you’ll have to be the one to dial,” Crowley said, unlocking his phone and handing it over to Louis, who already had the cordless in his hand ready to make the call. No sense in risking the angel not answering a known number, especially not so near midnight. Most people tended to answer strange numbers in late hours in the event of emergency, but might often ignore a call from someone they didn’t want to speak to. At least, that had been Louis’s experience on the matter.

Louis put it on speaker phone. The line connected after three rings.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said in a low voice, trying not to sound at all drunk. “It's me. We need to _talk_.” He bit back a giggle with a grin at the irony of that phrase.

“Yes. Yes, I rather think we do. I assume this is about—”

“Armageddon. Yes.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes so hard Crowley heard it over the phone. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We broke up. It wasn’t the end of the world.”

“Don’t… Don’t be so _dramatic_?” Crowley’s voice jumped an octave. “Me? Clearly, you’ve forgotten me already.”

Aziraphale was silent other than a huff over the telephone.

“And _weeeee_ didn’t break up,” Crowley slurred into the phone. “ _You_ were the one that broke me, broke my… Uh… You, you just broke _everything_ , didn’t you? And for the record, _Angel_ , I may have just been a day on the bottom of my sssock to you, but _you_ were _my_ world. So yes, it _isss_ like the end of the world. For me. You ended my world. So… Yeah. That’sss my point. Possibly.”

“Is that what you’ve called to tell me, then? Because I thought it might have been about leaving me at the tire shop,” Aziraphale bitched bitchily.

“You left him at a tire shop?” Louis grinned. “You didn’t tell me that!”

Crowley shushed him loudly before turning his attention back to the phone. “ _You_ left _me_ at the, at the _home_. At the _our_ home, where our stuff lived together.” Crowley sniffed, losing his train of thought. “My records _very_ much enjoyed all the times they were, p-, pierced by, by your big phonograph needle.” Crowley turned to whisper to Louis. "You see, that's, that's a euphemism for fucking. Phonograph sounds like pornograph. His big pornographic needle dick."

There was silence on the other end of the line other than the faint sound of an irritated breath.

"Well," Crowley amended, "It wasn't a _needle_ , really, more like a—"

Aziraphale loudly cleared his throat on the other end of the line.

“Wait," Crowley found his way back from his phonograpic tangent. "It wasn’t even a home for _me_ anymore though, was it?” Crowley remarked. “You left me in _purgatory_. If it weren’t for Louis here—”

“Louis? I don’t understand,” Aziraphale interrupted.

“That’s me!” Louis piped up.

“Louis gets it. Louis _understands_ me, Aziraphale. Louis _wants_ me to be happy.”

“Oh, and I do. You know I do, darling,” Louis drawled sweetly.

“Crowley, I—"

Crowley hung up the phone and looked at Louis. “That should have worked. Why didn’t it work?”

“Don’t look at me," Louis shrugged with a shocked look on his face. "That wasn’t _at all_ what I told you to say.”

Aziraphale couldn’t shake the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It began as soon as Crowley mentioned Louis. The name sounded familiar. While Aziraphale remembered the story, he only vaguely remembered the names of the people involved. He thought perhaps Crowley’s old boss was named Louis. But that didn’t make sense, did it? Louis was there with Crowley, sounding every bit as drunk. People didn’t usually hang around drinking to that point late at night with their employer, did they? But then again, people usually didn’t drink on the job, either, as he had seen Crowley doing at The Inferno. Maybe it was different in that line of work.

Crowley being drunk at all, let alone _that_ drunk _again_ , was an entirely different set of problems that Aziraphale would have to put a pin in to unpack later. For now, he was too distracted by that growing, gnawing sensation flooding within him. Was this jealousy? Was he jealous?

Aziraphale had thought Crowley was overreacting when he had been concerned about Raphael. Looking back on it, Aziraphale thought perhaps he had been too quick to judge on that. After all, he and Raphael had over thirty years of history together. It actually made some sense, now that he truly considered it, that Crowley might have had the wrong idea when Raphael showed up so soon after the breakup. But that was different, wasn’t it?

Louis and Crowley couldn’t possibly have that kind of history, not based on what he knew about Crowley. It wasn’t _feasible_ to Aziraphale that Crowley would be involved with someone else this quickly. The gnawing in his gut grew sharper. _It was a slap in the face, is what it was_ , Aziraphale thought, sliding the ring off of his finger with an angry glare. But that hardly seemed sporting for him to say, he thought. _He_ was the one who ended things, not Crowley. It wasn't _Crowley's_ decision that caused all of this.

There are moments in most everyone’s life where they question their own motivations or sense of wrong vs right. It is in that moment when a person looks back and realizes, whether or not they know what to do about it, that they’ve made a huge mistake.

“This is one of mine,” Aziraphale thought.

Aziraphale sighed, putting the ring back on. “I suppose Crowley isn’t the only one with a flair for the dramatic.”

Aziraphale wanted Crowley to be happy and safe. It never occurred to him that might mean Crowley could become involved with someone else before Aziraphale could sort things out.

Aziraphale had just returned home from work. He was in the kitchen starting the kettle when he heard a knock at the door.

“Are you busy tonight, Aziraphale?” Michael asked as she walked past Aziraphale to hang her coat up in the living room.

“As a matter of fact, I have quite a bit of nothing to do for the rest of the day,” he replied with a smile. “Tea?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” she replied, following him into the kitchen.

“So, what can I do for you?” Aziraphale asked as he checked the kettle and pulled two cups out of the cupboard.

“As it turns out,” Michael said with an arch of her eyebrow, “I, too have found myself with quite a bit of free time that I might like to fill.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale wiggled playfully. “And how might you do that?”

“Care to join me for dinner?”

“Love to. Where did you have in mind?”

“Mother’s house.”

“Michael,” Aziraphale looked dourly at her. “That was a dirty trick. You know I can’t. I don’t want to risk being around—"

“Gabe and Enoch are out of town, Aziraphale,” Michael reassured him. “It’ll just be the three of us.”

Aziraphale eyed her warily. “You’re certain?”

“I promise. I just dropped them off at the airport myself, and came here straightaway.”

Aziraphale considered. He _had_ missed his mother quite a bit over the years. Even if he couldn’t explain to her _why_ , he really did feel like he needed to see her right now. Maybe it would help him feel better.

“Oh, my darling child, how I’ve missed you!” Aziraphale’s mother said, squeezing him tightly before helping him with his coat. She glanced over him. “Didn’t hug Michael today, I see,” she said with an arch of her eyebrow.

“What?” Aziraphale said, confused.

“There don’t appear to be any long red hairs on you today,” she said, turning around to exit the foyer.

Aziraphale felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Maybe this wasn’t what he needed after all, he thought.

Michael looked between the two of them awkwardly before leading Aziraphale into the kitchen after her.

After a lovely dinner, and by lovely, that was remarkably true this time, the three of them retired to the porch for a cigar and a brandy.

His mother snipped the end off of her cigar and leaned forward towards him, expectantly.

Aziraphale quickly pulled a lighter out of his pocket to light her cigar.

“Aziraphale,” she said, taking a few initial puffs to get it properly lit.

“Yes, mother?”

“Where is the lighter that I gave you, Aziraphale, to light our cigars?” She asked him.

“Lighter? Right. Um, uh… Little pewter lighty-thing.” He mimed flicking a lighter with his right hand in spite of having an actual lighter in his left.

“Yes.”

“Uh, oh,” He hummed, struggling for words. “Must have, uh, must have put it down, somewhere,” he said nervously. “Um, forget my own head next.” He plastered on a smile best described as _nervous prey_.

She arched her eyebrow yet again at him with a tight-lipped smirk before opening a small shoebox that she had brought out with the humidor box.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, noticing the contents.

“I happened to find some old photos while I was rummaging about in storage recently,” their mother said. “This box has several photos of you when you were,” she pulled one out to view, tilting her head and squinting her eyes, “I’d say maybe twenty-one, twenty-two?” She turned the photo around to show a younger Aziraphale with shaggy strawberry-blonde hair only slightly lighter in color than Michael’s own.

“I’ll take those, thank you,” Aziraphale said, snatching them all up to pull out any photos of himself, sticking them in his pocket.

“Honestly, Aziraphale, I don’t understand this obsession of yours with your old photographs. Are you concerned people are going to think you dye your hair?” She reached for the box. “I never understood why you didn’t just dye it back when it happened, if it’s such a big deal to you.”

“I, I just… Just let me have these, please.”

Aziraphale had meticulously scoured his mother’s house for old photographs of himself over the years, or so he had thought. He had been pale blonde until he was ten years old, when his hair began to darken. After the attack when he was 23, all of the dark hairs gradually had been replaced with white, mixing into the remaining light blonde, just before he turned 25. Aziraphale pocketed and removed every photo of the time in-between so that no one would ever see his old hair color again.

Their mother shrugged and nodded affirmation, taking another puff off of her cigar as Michael and Aziraphale dug through the old photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm asking a favor from all of you.
> 
> I have truly enjoyed telling this story, almost to the point of obsession. But while I have the core points already written, I find myself needing encouragement to continue after this past weekend. There's just a lot happening, coming at me from multiple directions, and I'm in need of some constructive motivation. I just wasn't going to post anything at all this week until Saturday, since I have already gotten the next two chapters written, but I decided I needed to try to rekindle that spark before it had a chance to go out.
> 
> I have already decided to try doing a few art pieces here and there for particular scenes to remind me of the excitement I had for this, but what I'm asking of you all is if you have any particular canon nod scenes, or scenarios, that you might like to see me try to work in, please leave a comment suggesting it!  
> I can't promise to do them all, and if I do them, they might not even be in the specific characters you request, but if what you suggest fits into the story I'm telling, I'll see what I can do to work it in.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Also, please enjoy Dana/Dagon's shoes.  
> 


	23. Halos, Falling, And The Light That Meets The Morningstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's _Showtime!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Halo Dance Remix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAJsKUNSHJA)
> 
> [Amy Winehouse Cover Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ludxpkyrab0&list=PL8mWU8mPeMHCuHa5NJyaHy6eMNyYLMpXu&index=9)
> 
> Even if you usually just read the lyrics and don't listen to the songs, if it is possible to do so, I _highly_ recommend listening to these two for the chapter to get the whole experience.

Aziraphale had just gone out to fetch the post when Tracy stopped him in the hallway.

“Cooey, Mr. Aziraphale!”

“Tracy!” Aziraphale smiled brightly. “How lovely to see you.” His face fell. “Is Shadwell with you?”

Tracy laughed gently. “Oh, no, he’s not by today. He has business to attend to. It’s just going to be me this afternoon.”

“Oh, I see. Have you any plans, then?” Aziraphale asked. He generally disliked small talk, but Tracy had been so kind to him these past two months since he and Crowley had split up. Well, truth be told, she had _always_ been nice to him, but she had been going the extra mile lately to make sure he had a hot meal and a friendly smile here and there.

“As a matter of fact, I’m in the process of putting together a show on Saturday night.” Her eyes were wild with ambition.

“What sort of show?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, you know, just a bit of dancing. I used to dance in a troupe, but now I mostly just do choreography and consultation. But I’m ever so excited about it.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale replied, eyes twinkling. He really was happy something was keeping her so busy and active.

"I do worry, though, a bit,” Tracy said, looking up at Aziraphale and back down again, then trying to catch his eye again a few seconds later.

Finding that Aziraphale was distracted flipping through the post in his hand, she did the only thing she could do. She sighed heavily.

Aziraphale looked up with concern. “Is there something the matter, dear lady?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Tracy said, turning around. “Never you mind,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

Aziraphale shrugged and turned to walk towards his door.

“It’s just,” Tracy said quickly, catching Aziraphale’s attention enough to encourage him to turn back around.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m a bit worried about the turnout, you see. I’m so worried that my dancers and I have done all this work and there won’t be an audience.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will turn out just fine,” Aziraphale spoke kindly, his smile evident in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course. But you know, I might feel ever so much better knowing there was a friendly face in the audience,” she said with a demure plea in her voice.

“Miss Tracy,” Aziraphale said with a sly grin. “If you would like me to attend, all you need do is ask.”

“Wonderful!” She said, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“Oh, Mr. Aziraphale, I’m so glad you could make it!" Tracy rushed over to him, grabbing his hands to lead him to a secluded corner next to the stage. "I’m in a terrible bind, you see.”

“What appears to be the problem?” Aziraphale asked with concern.

Tracy took a deep breath, preparing herself to lay it on thick. “One of the routines requires someone to sit in that chair," she pointed towards a gold and red throne at the end of the stage, "And it seems he’s disappeared into thin air.” Tracy looked at him imploringly. “Do you think you could be a dear and fill in for us? The poor dear is _so_ looking forward to working the chair routine. Been practicing a fortnight. But without a partner…” Her voice trailed off as she looked out into the distance. For dramatic effect, of course.

“Me?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “Surely there’s someone else.”

She tilted her head to the side, batting her eyes. “The other performers will be too busy preparing for their own routines, and I’ll be busy keeping up with everything else production-wise.”

“Don’t they usually pull someone from the crowd for that sort of thing?” Aziraphale asked her with hesitation.

“I _could_ just pull someone random from the audience,” Tracy answered, turning around to come up with a reason why _not_ on the spot. Luckily, she was quite accomplished in the art of bullshittery. She turned back towards Aziraphale with pleading eyes. “But I’d feel so much _better_ knowing there was someone in the seat that I could _trust_ with my lovelies.”

“Oh, my dear lady, I _do_ understand that," Aziraphale beamed. "I’d be honored to assist.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Tracy curtsied with a smile. She caught Dana’s eye and nodded. Returning a nod of her own, Dana quickly ran down the hall towards the dressing rooms.

Crowley was adjusting the straps on the black feathered wings he was wearing when he heard a knock at the door. “If I know you, come in. If you aren’t sure, stay outside,” he called out, still trying to work the buckle on the strap.

“Can anyone truly know another, Crawley?” Dana asked as she slipped through the door, closing it behind her.

“Oh, don’t go getting all philosophical on me now, Dana,” Crowley groaned. “I’m not drunk enough to handle that.”

“No, no, don’t fret, love. I wouldn’t expect you to handle something like that,” Dana teased.

Crowley shook his head sarcastically. “Are my wings on straight?”

“If your wings were on straight, I don’t think I'd find you _nearly_ as interesting,” Dana remarked as she adjusted the feathers on one side.

Crowley grinned at her through the mirror in front of him. “Point taken,” he said, standing up. “Right, let’s go. I want to watch some of the show before I go on."

Dana jumped between him and the door. “No, no, you can’t leave. Not yet.”

Crowley’s head tilted to the side. “Why?”

“It’s…” Dana’s head raced with reasons before finally settling on what she thought was an obvious choice. “It’s bad luck.”

“Bad luck?”

“Yes. Bad luck,” she repeated. “You can’t go out there until it’s time for you to go on.”

Crowley eyed her skeptically.

“It’s your first performance tonight. You should be focused on _yourself_. You don’t want to be thinking about what other people were doing when you first get up there.”

Crowley pouted thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose…”

“And it’s _tradition_ ,” Dana panicked, throwing another random reason out. She had to keep Crowley out of sight until his performance was to begin. Tracy had worked quite hard to set this up, and the surprise wasn’t going to be ruined by someone ruining the surprise. Dana shook her head with a grimace. _What is **wrong** with me?_ She thought.

"It's not," Crowley said, not believing her.

"You don't know, do you? You've been a Jezebel for five minutes," Dana said. "Now sit down and think happy thoughts."

Anyway, she and Tracy had a _plan_ in place, and Dana was _determined_ to do her part for it to work. If that part meant keeping Crowley occupied during the show so that he didn’t see what was going on around the stage, so be it.

What would happen _after_ the fact, she had no clue. But that angel would have to be blindfolded not to appreciate the work Crowley had put into both his costume and his routine. She was truly impressed. It wasn’t just a favor that got him a spot in their troupe. The _favor_ got him the audition. Dana may have gotten his foot in the door, but he walked through it all on his own merit. She couldn’t have been prouder of him.

“What are you grinning about?” Crowley asked, noticing she had mentally meandered elsewhere momentarily.

She smiled at him with genuine affection. “Just thinking about how proud I am of you,” she said, kicking her spiky-booted feet as she sat on the edge of the vanity next to him.

“Shut up,” he said, trying to fight back a grin of his own with a roll of his feather-fringed eyes.

Tracy looked at the clock. It was five minutes before Crowley was set to be on stage. _Showtime_ , Tracy thought. She wove her way in and out of the crowds, looking for that tell-tale patch of paper-white curls. “Oh, Mr. Aziraphale,” she called out in a sing-song voice. “Are you ready?”

“Ah, Tracy, there you are,” Aziraphale greeted happily. “Yes, of course. What do you need for me to do?”

“Be a dear and follow me? I’ll bring you to where I need you to sit.”

The two approached the side of the stage where a large golden throne with a plush red-velvet seat and back cushion sat. The back of the throne had spires on either side, and was taller than Aziraphale.

“Now, all you’ll need to do is just sit right there and keep your hands off of the armrests.”

“Keep my hands off of the armrests?” Aziraphale questioned, wanting to make certain he heard correctly.

She leaned in and gave him a wink. “Don’t want to get your fingers stepped on, now, do you?”

“Oh, no, no,” he quickly agreed, shaking his head. “Of course not. Thank you for, for telling me.”

“Wonderful!” Tracy clapped. “Now you just sit here, nice and still. Can’t be poking your head and hands around while my Jezebel is trying to dance the routine we’ve worked on for _such_ a long time.” Tracy pouted appreciatively.

Aziraphale nodded, settling back against the throne.

“There’s a love,” Tracy said with a pat to Aziraphale's shoulder before walking away.

Dana looked at the clock. _Shoetime, er, showtime_ , she thought.

“Are you ready?” She asked Crowley with excitement.

Crowley was nervous, but eager. “Yes.”

“Right. It’s time to get out there.” Dana looked down at Crowley’s snakeskin-embossed black ankle boots. “Your boods suit you,” she said with a smile.

“Did you just say ‘ _boods_?” Crowley asked with a bemused look on his face.

“No.”

She _did_. She _totally_ did.

Dana led Crowley to the stage entrance. He took a deep breath, letting it out through his mouth in a soundless whistle.

_Halo_

He bounced back and forth from foot to foot, shaking out his arms to wait for his cue.

_Remember those walls I built  
Well, baby, they're tumbling down  
  
_

Crowley followed the steps Tracy had taught him beautifully. He moved so seamlessly he practically slithered up behind the throne.

_Standing in the light of your halo  
I got my angel now_

Aziraphale grew nervous as the music continued. He still couldn’t see the performer, but he thought he might have heard them. It was difficult to tell with the music behind him.

_Hit me like a ray of sun  
Burning through my darkest night  
You're the only one that I want  
Think I'm addicted to your light_

Crowley, still not having seen who was seated, grabbed one of the reinforced spires at the top of the throne with his right hand, just as he had countless times in rehearsal. He kicked his right leg up to lock the heel of his boot on the left arm of the throne, lifting himself up to swing around to the front, shift his right heel around, and drop down into the seat.

_I swore I'd never fall again  
But this don't even feel like falling_

Crowley’s eyes grew wide with shock as he recognized the pale curls beneath him. It was already too late. He was on his way down.

_  
Gravity can't forget  
To pull me back to the ground again_

Upon missing the landing of repositioning his right heel due to angelic interference, instead of stopping in the lap as the routine was supposed to go, Crowley slid backwards down Aziraphale’s legs into the floor, flat on his back, with his heels on the armrests on either side of Aziraphale. Tracy and Dana both visibly cringed. The crowd, however, was unable to see the look of shock and embarrassment on Crowley’s face. Thinking it was part of the act, they cheered wildly.

_Feels like I've been awakened  
Every rule I had you break it_

Crowley quickly recovered, pulling his legs back down and crawling forward on his hands and knees towards Aziraphale to the hoots and hollers of the viewers behind him.

_  
The risk that I'm taking  
I'm never gonna shut you out_

Crowley grabbed the arms of the throne to lift himself up. “Do you think this is _cute_ , Aziraphale?” He accused. “Have you any idea how important this is to me? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

_Everywhere I'm looking now  
I'm surrounded by your embrace_

“I was about to ask _you_ the same thing,” Aziraphale spat, flustered. “How _dare_ you.”

_  
Baby, I can see your halo  
You know you're my saving grace_

Crowley’s irritation was as high as his embarrassment. “Eh, uh, er, uh, h-how dare _me_?” Crowley sputtered. “How dare _you_! What have _I_ done?”

“Tricked me into being a part of some tawdry show,” Aziraphale replied, self-assuredly.

_You're everything I need and more  
It's written all over your face  
  
_

“Oh, that’s a bit holier-than-thou, isn’t it? You lost that moral argument when you sat down in _my_ chair on _my_ stage,” Crowley growled as he leaned forward, locking Aziraphale in by grabbing the armrests on either side of him.

_Baby, I can feel your halo  
Pray it won't fade away_

“I _am_ a great deal holier than thou. That's the whole point,” Aziraphale half-glared up at him. “I came to see a performance choreographed by my _friend_ , who asked me to do her a _favor_. _You’re_ the one jumping on chairs and prancing around half… Half-naked for God and everyone to see.”

_Let me see your halo (halo) halo_

Still leaning over Aziraphale while holding onto the armrests, Crowley sighed. The part of him that _wasn’t_ irritated had hoped that _maybe_ Aziraphale had come to see him perform on purpose, but it was crushed by the realization that it had all been a setup. “This is ridiculous. _You_ are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you,” Crowley said, looking to one side.

“Well, frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale answered, looking off to the opposite side.

_Let me see your halo (halo) halo_

Crowley huffed out a groan, dropping his head. When he saw the way his hair draped against Aziraphale’s stomach combined with the glint of gold on the angel’s right hand, inspiration struck. _Fuck it_ , he thought as he grinned wickedly. _We’re already here. Let’s do this._ He started to swing his head back and forth, dragging his hair across Aziraphale.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aziraphale hissed.

_Let me feel your halo_ _(halo) halo_

He climbed up into Aziraphale’s lap, straddling him, as he gripped the sides of the throne.

_Let me see your halo (halo) halo_

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he felt Crowley press against him, his own blood flow betraying him.

_Let me feel your halo_ _(halo) halo_

Crowley placed Aziraphale’s hands on his own hips. He licked his lips and whispered, “Make it look good, Angel. My boss is watching.”

_Everywhere I'm looking now  
I'm surrounded by your embrace_

“I thought the audience wasn’t supposed to actually touch the performers in a burlesque show,” Aziraphale whispered, eyes locked with Crowley’s own.

_  
Baby, I can see your halo  
You know you're my saving grace_

Crowley leaned closer, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck. He could feel Aziraphale’s pulse quicken against his cheek. _That’s an action_ , he thought. _That’s an action and I can **feel** you, Angel. I know your body and I know **you**. I know this is doing the same thing to you that it is to me._ He pulled back just enough to breathe hot, heavy breath against Aziraphale’s ear for what seemed like an eternity of never enough, though it was only the length of a few lyrics.

_You're everything I need and more  
It's written all over your face  
  
_

“Normally, you need to wait to be _invited_ ,” Crowley breathed, carefully grinding his hips down while squeezing his thighs around Aziraphale.

_Baby, I can feel your halo  
Pray it won't fade away_

“But,” he continued, walking his fingers down Aziraphale’s arm to grasp his hand, pulling it back up from his hips to his lips. Crowley first pressed a soft kiss against the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist, then against _the_ ring still on his finger, and placed Aziraphale’s hand over his own heart. “You’ve never actually _left_ here, so the invitation stands.”

The spotlight above them went dark as the last chords played through the large monitor on the stage, signaling the intermission. Neither of them moved while Tracy and Dana quickly pulled the curtains closed in front of them as quieter music began to play through the overhead speakers, leaving the two of them alone together.

_Tonight, you're mine, completely  
You give your love so sweetly  
  
_

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s heart racing in the palm of his hand. Without thinking, Aziraphale reached up with his free hand to brush a strand of Crowley’s hair out of his eyes, placing it behind his ear, cupping the side of his face after.

_Tonight the light of love is in your eyes  
Will you still love me tomorrow_

Crowley, keeping Aziraphale’s hand over his heart with one hand, quickly put his other palm against the hand on his face, closing his eyes to lean blissfully into the touch.

_Is this a lasting treasure  
Or just a moment's pleasure? _

“If you truly don’t want me, you need to tell me, and you need to leave _right now_ ,” Crowley leaned down to whisper with a light flick of his tongue against Aziraphale’s ear, “Because _I_ think you _do_ want me,” he said, grinding more aggressively against the hardness beneath him in the darkness.

_Can I believe the magic of your sighs  
Will you still love me tomorrow?_

“I can _feel_ you,” Crowley purred hotly into his ear. “And if you _don’t_ go, I’m likely to _beg_ you to bend me over this chair _right now_.”

_Tonight, with words unspoken  
You said that I'm the only one, the only one_

Crowley pulled his head back just enough to look into Aziraphale’s eyes, illuminated as they were by the dim light from across the way, before grabbing him by the back of the head and kissing him deeply.

_But will my heart be broken  
When the night meets the morning star_

Forgetting himself briefly, Aziraphale returned the kiss hungrily, clutching Crowley and pulling him closer with a rumbling growl. Once he remembered himself, he wrapped his arms around the love of his life, supporting him from underneath as he stood, lifting him up as he had done so many times before.

_I'd like to know that your love  
Is a love I can be sure of_

He turned around them around, mouths, lips, and tongues still entwined, to gently place a flushed and longing Crowley on the throne. Breaking the same kiss that began before they switched positions, he lifted Crowley’s hand to his own lips, kissing the back of it.

_  
So tell me now, 'cause I won't ask again  
Will you still love me tomorrow _

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale attempted to speak. “I… I d—” He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words he didn’t feel. He wasn’t ready for this. He _knew_ he loved Crowley more than he could contain. How could he possibly stand there before him and lie about that again? He couldn’t look Crowley in the eye and say he didn’t love him, not now, not in _this_ moment, and still be able to walk away. Aziraphale wanted him. He _needed_ him. None of that had changed just because he couldn’t have him. He could lie, or he could leave, but he couldn’t do both.

_Will you still love me tomorrow  
Will you still love me tomorrow?_

Aziraphale smiled sadly, tilting his head. “We can’t,” he said instead, wrapping his long coat around himself to walk away.

Crowley remained seated, watching Aziraphale walk away. _He didn’t say no. Crowley thought._

“I’ve known you well enough to know when you’re considering your words, Angel,” Crowley spoke his thoughts to the empty doorway where Aziraphale had exited the stage. “You kissed me _back_.” He leaned back, closing his eyes and pressing his fingertips to languish against his lips in lieu of an angel. “You’re _still_ wearing my ring, and you very specifically _didn’t_ say you didn’t want me.”

Crowley stood up from the throne and headed towards the curtain. “Tracy,” he called out, assuming she would have been nearby. “Might I have _a word_?”

“No,” she called back from behind the curtain.

Crowley’s head pulled back in surprise as his brow furrowed and his lip pursed. “No?” He mouthed before flipping the curtain open. Not realizing she had been standing right against it, Crowley almost tripped over her, towering above Madame Tracy in his high-heeled boots.

When he regained his balance, and a modicum of composure, he asked, “Why not?”

“Well,” Tracy scrunched up her face in a wearily guilty expression. “Pretty sure when I get home, Mr. Aziraphale is going to yell at me. _You_ get to yell at _Dana_ ,” she said, pointing. Dana’s eyes went wide as she suddenly forgot how to chew and swallowed the biscuit she was eating near-whole.

Crowley unlocked the door to his room, entering and closing it behind him. He carefully put away his boots and placed his bag in the corner for laundering. Hanging his wings across the corner of the mirror on the dresser, he sat down to remove his eyelashes and jewelry, and take his hair down. Crowley took his time wiping away his makeup and brushing out his hair. He walked into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, and turned the heat on so hot it made his skin red, which was as hot as he could stand it.

After a long, leisurely scrub, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Drying off with a towel as he stepped back into his room, he walked over to the chair in the corner where he kept the over-sized shirt he had slipped into his bag when he packed up to leave the day after Christmas. Crowley spritzed it with the familiar cologne from a bottle he had purchased identical to the one in the bathroom of where he used to live. Crowley put the shirt on, holding the sleeve cuff against his face while he inhaled deeply, and went to bed.

It was a ritual Crowley had done so many nights before. Its design was both to keep the memory fresh in his mind so he wouldn’t forget, and a way to pretend that things were as they had always been, at least, during their time together. Wearing Aziraphale’s shirt and smelling his cologne when he climbed into bed was a way to pretend, at least until he fell asleep, that he was merely waiting for Aziraphale to finish up whatever he was doing and come lie down next to him.

He had been waiting on Aziraphale to come to bed over two months now.


	24. I'll Be Waiting For You When You're Ready To Love Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have You Ever Looked Fear In The Face And Said, "I Just Don't Care?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [ Adele I'll Be Waiting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qnvhwK_hB4&fbclid=IwAR1NPQdwg89OZDfceK1i599sJTGC6E0h9w1W-jlqTjWsU11Tv0i35_p4EX8)  
> [P!nk Glitter In The Air](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0niybOchhrU)

As the night continued and Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley, how good it felt to _hold_ him again, to kiss and _be_ kissed by him, among other things, his mind grew restless. He wanted this, _needed_ this, and he was desperate to keep it. He wouldn’t say he couldn’t remember what life was like before Crowley, but he knew it wasn’t something he wanted to experience ever again.

He had to _do_ something.

He had an idea.

 _It’s okay. I’m doing this for Crowley,_ Aziraphale thought _._ It would be okay when it _did_ hurt, wouldn’t it? It would be fine, because it was _for Crowley_. And maybe when it hurt, it wouldn’t be so bad. It was for _Crowley_ , and Crowley _loved_ him.

It was _for Crowley_ , Aziraphale reminded himself over and over again.

Crowley _loved_ him.

He could _do_ this. He _would_ do this. He would do _anything_ for Crowley.

 _Easy job. It should be, anyway. I’ve spent my life with books. I even went to University for publishing,_ Aziraphale thought _._ "People do this sort of thing all the time. Nice, straightforward job change. I’ll just speak to Enoch and go to head office and get started,” Aziraphale said to himself, trying to gather the courage to make that call. _Crowley loves me_. _He deserves better than me. He deserves more than I’ve given him_.

Aziraphale picked up his phone, hesitating momentarily.

“I have to do this. I have to fix it. I _have_ to.”

_I can’t lose him._

Aziraphale took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through his nose.

Crowley would be safer when he was done, right? Once there was no more reason for Gabe to be in the UK for work, Crowley could be back in his life. Aziraphale would get to stay with the one person in all of creation that made him believe he was worthy of love again after so many years of believing otherwise. They’d be happy, right?

Aziraphale could put himself through that. He could pay that price.

He _would_.

Crowley was _worth_ it. He was worth the torment.

Aziraphale hit the dial icon in his contact list to call his stepfather.

Aziraphale knocked on the partially open door to Gabe’s office, timidly poking his head in.

“Hmm,” Gabe hummed, not looking up from his phone.

“It's me.”

“I _know_ it's you, Aziraphale.”

“Yes. Right. Look, we need to get word upstairs to the, to the, to the Big Boss, er, Enoch, your father.” _Oh, that’s brilliant_ , Aziraphale thought. _He **knows** who his father is_. Done admonishing himself, Aziraphale continued. “There, there's been a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“The Armageddon tour is coming, and I'm fairly certain it starts at the end of next month.

“Exactly, right on schedule. What's your point?” Gabe asked, barely diverting his attention from the game he was playing on his phone.

“Look, will you please stop, just for a minute?” Aziraphale pleaded, trying to get Gabe’s attention enough to discuss this properly. “Please.”

Gabe huffed a derisive sigh through his nose, rolling his eyes as he placed his phone face-down on his desk. “Well?”

“I just, I just thought there was something _else_ I would do,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands nervously.

“There is!” Gabe said excitedly. “You can tour, and you can _learn_.”

“But that doesn’t…” Aziraphale was confused. He wasn’t _supposed_ to be working on the marketing side. The Brass Horn division was Gabe’s division. It was the portion of the business that handled book launches, promotions, and author tours. Aziraphale was supposed to be training to head the Eastern Gate division, currently situated across multiple virtual and physical locations in London, but headed up at the Greenwich office, which was split between the official Head Office building and Enoch’s in-home office within walking distance. “I was told that, for my side of this, there doesn't _have_ to be a tour.”

“ _Of course_ there does.” Gabe regarded him with a patronizing smile. “Otherwise, how would we promote it? Hmm?” Gabe shrugged and furrowed his brows as if he couldn’t possibly understand what Aziraphale wasn’t _getting_ about all of this. “Now look, wrap up whatever you need to wrap up down at the diner, report back to HR to change your active service status, and,” Gabe sighed, looking down at Aziraphale’s stomach. He pulled a form from one of the drawers in his desk, scribbling in the memo and signing it. “Lose the gut.”

Gabe slid a signed expense voucher with _gym membership_ written in the memo towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked down at the voucher, then back up at Gabe.

“You represent the company now. If you’re going to be on my team, you need to look the part.”

“But I, I thought, um, I thought I’d have my _own_ team,” Aziraphale stated, all but holding his breath. “I was supposed to be in-house, on the, the production side. I wasn’t _supposed_ to go on the promotional tours.”

“Eventually, sure, but you don’t need to worry about all of that right now,” Gabe said, getting up from his chair to walk around his desk. He perched on the edge of the desk next to where Aziraphale was seated below in the chair. “I’m _personally_ going to take you under my wing and whip you into shape.” Gabe leaned over in a way that cast an imposing shadow across Aziraphale. “Come on. You're a lean, mean fighting machine.”

Aziraphale flinched hard when Gabe made a punching gesture.

“What are you?” Gabe asked with a laugh.

Aziraphale plastered on his best fake smile as he stood up to leave the office. Closing the door behind him, he whispered, ”I'm, I'm soft.”

Aziraphale gasped loudly as the door he was leaning on opened quickly, causing him to stumble, wide-eyed and off balance, into Gabe. Aziraphale jumped away as if he were on fire, turning around to face him.

“Almost forgot,” Gabe said, stepping forward to invade Aziraphale’s space. “According to our records, you were issued an onboarding packet, but there isn’t a completed one on file for you. You didn't lose that?”

“What, like I, I'd just not return it or something?” Aziraphale replied nervously. “I’ll… I’ll get right on that,” he said, backing away to leave again.

Aziraphale hadn’t turned the paperwork in yet because he had been having second thoughts. This particular meeting didn’t help.  
  


_Hold me closer, one more time  
Say that you love me in your last goodbye  
Please forgive me, for my sins  
Yes, I swam dirty waters  
But you pushed me in_

Crowley’s fingers danced against the wheel, as they often did when the radio played, while he drove vaguely ‘roundward.

_  
I've seen your face, under every sky  
Over every border and on every line  
You know my heart, more than I do  
We were the greatest, me and you_

Counting time with the tapping of his knee against the door, Crowley began to shake his head and shoulders to the music.

_But we had time against us  
And miles between us  
The heavens cried  
I know I left you speechless  
But now the sky has cleared and it's blue  
And I see my future in you_

The song had built up an eagerness in Crowley. He began to driver’s-seat-dance and sing loudly with the radio.

_I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to love me again  
I'll put my hands up  
I'll do everything different  
I'll be better to you,  
I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to love me again  
I'll put my hands up  
I'll be somebody different  
I'll be better to you_

Passing the building he used to live in for the fifth time this evening, Crowley tried to convince himself to park and go inside.

_Let me stay here for just one more night  
Build your world around me  
And pull me to the light  
So I can tell you that I was wrong  
I was a child then, but now I'm willing to learn_

Not that he’d ever admit to it, but Crowley did this at least once a week, though it was twice this week, since he and Aziraphale kissed after his performance with the Jezebels. Crowley would circle around, trying to figure out an excuse or reason to just go up and knock on Aziraphale’s door.

Crowley was a person of action, but Aziraphale liked words. If Aziraphale wasn’t talking, Crowley thought he might need to take matters into his own hands. He rehearsed what he might say so many times that the words themselves became a jumbled blur. It seemed the more he tried to convince himself he knew what to say, the less he was prepared to actually speak it aloud.

But tonight, he felt emboldened. The music helped.

_  
Time against us  
Miles between us  
Heavens cried  
I know I left you speechless  
I know I left you speechless_

_I'll be waiting  
I'll be waiting for you when you're ready–_

Crowley’s voice stopped short as he slapped the knob on the radio when he heard his text notification chime.

Aziraphale walked through the front door of his flat after a shift at the diner. He was down to working two days a week in an effort to keep his foot in the proverbial door, depending on how things continued to go with Vox Dei publications. He put his phone on the charger by his desk before he went to his bedroom to change into something more comfortable. He’d figure out what he wanted to do about something to nibble after he was in his slippers.

In an attempt to turn out his pockets to place the worn pants in the laundry hamper, he spilled his coins in the floor. On his hands and knees, he felt around beneath the bed to retrieve the coins that rolled underneath. His hand brushed against what felt like a spiral-bound notebook. Curious, he pulled it out from beneath the bed, blowing a bit of dust off of the cover.

“This is one of Crowley’s sketchbooks,” Aziraphale said, wide-eyed. “I should… I should let him know I have it. He’ll likely want it back.”

Aziraphale carried the book with him into the living room. Without thinking, he sat down on the couch and flipped it the book open.

“Oh,” he said out loud, looking down at it. Each page he turned was a sketch of _him._ Some were portraits, some full-body, some even had wings.

He took a deep, grounding breath and held the book tightly against his chest. As much as he wanted to keep it, he couldn’t do that. He was already feeling guilty for looking at it, remembering after the fact how Crowley had guarded it the first time he had ever seen any of Crowley’s sketches. He wondered how much of the book had been filled back then.

 _No_ , Aziraphale thought. _I have to return it to Crowley._

He reached for his phone to compose a text.

> **I found one of your  
>  sketchbooks under  
>  the bed.**
> 
> **Are you home?  
>  I can come by now to  
>  pick it up if that’s ok **

Aziraphale sat staring at his phone. He didn’t expect that response. He had anticipated leaving it with someone else for Crowley to collect, or possibly being asked to send it through Tracy.

> **Yes. I’m home.**
> 
> **omw**

Realizing he had no idea how far away Crowley was, Aziraphale ran down the hallway, phone and book both still in hand, bumping into the wall before managing to make it into the bedroom. He threw his phone and the book on the bed so he could change clothes for the second time since getting home from work. He had just spritzed on fresh cologne when he realized what he was doing. He put the bottle down, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I’m not interested. This is purely social. I’m not his angel anymore.”

He had just turned on the radio to distract himself when there was a quiet knock on the door.

Aziraphale, in his haste, left the radio on and the sketchbook on the bed as he rushed from the room to answer the door. He opened it to find a downturned face with scared amber eyes rimmed in smoky kohl looking up at him from beneath a fringe of red curls. The sight, combined with the potent aroma of fresh roses and apples, set Aziraphale’s heart to pounding in his chest. “You look lovely,” Aziraphale sighed before he could stop himself.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, looking off to the side with a blush. He stood still with an arm wrapped around himself in the doorway. “I was supposed to perform tonight, but there was a last-minute schedule change. So now I’m all dressed up with no place to go. Well, besides here. To, uh, to pick up my book, anyway.” There really wasn’t any need to tell Aziraphale that he had driven all the way out from Hammersmith to Soho just to circle Aziraphale’s building, orbiting a few times trying to come up with an excuse to see the angel. He didn’t really consider the tolls a frivolous expense, since he had succeeded… This time.

“Do come in,” Aziraphale said, stepping to the side.

Crowley couldn’t help but look around. _It looks the same as I remember it,_ he thought. _Everything just the way it was, not a book—_

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed his own photograph in a frame on the desk. _That’s new_ , he thought.

"Oh, the book!" Aziraphale suddenly remembered. "I left it in the bedroom."

Crowley’s heart raced in his chest as he followed Aziraphale down the hallway he had not set foot in since Boxing Day. How ironic, he thought, that he had boxed up his life to fill his car once more on that day. Crowley's thoughts were interrupted by the music he heard coming from the bedroom they used to share.

_Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?  
Closed your eyes and trusted, just trusted?  
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?  
Have you ever looked fear in the face  
And said I just don't care?_

Aziraphale wondered how he could have ever let Crowley go. He knew, _of course_ he did, but right here, right now, in this very moment, the world stood still as he motioned with his left hand for Crowley to enter the room, keeping his right behind him as he gently thumbed along the edges of the ring he had forgotten to remove in his haste to answer the door.

_And it's only half past the point of no return  
The tip of the iceberg  
The sun before the burn  
The thunder before the lightning  
And the breath before the phrase  
Have you ever felt this way?_

Upon entering the bedroom, Crowley could smell Aziraphale’s cologne more strongly. _He put that on in the last few minutes_ , Crowley thought. _I can still smell it in the air._ _Did he put it on for me? I wonder if he knows I put mine on for him?_ When Aziraphale had texted to grant permission to come over, Crowley had barely finished typing out the three letters in response before grabbing the bottle from his bag and spritzing himself so he would smell nice for his angel.

_Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?  
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone_

Crowley glanced at the sketch book at the foot of the bed where Aziraphale had held him so delicately and lovingly in the past. He closed his eyes, exhaling with a whisper of breath at the memory of being in that very bed with Aziraphale the first time anyone had ever made love to him instead of just fucking him and casting him aside after. Aziraphale had held him, _actually_ held him close, when he had been overwhelmed.

_  
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?  
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?_

When Crowley opened his eyes, Aziraphale was standing in front of him. The angel's face was tilted downward ever so slightly, just enough to notice his eyebrows lifted in penance above eyes so full of remorse Crowley could drown in them.

_It's only half past the point of oblivion  
The hourglass on the table  
The walk before the run  
The breath before the kiss  
And the fear before the flames  
Have you ever felt this way?_

Neither of them knew truly who moved first, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was _now_ , and _now_ was happening either way.

Hands, frantically seeking the warmth and security once taken for granted, reached out towards one another. Arms, desperate to _hold_ , wrapped around a body longing to _be_ held, lifting it up and pulling it close. Legs that had been dancing around that desperation coiled tightly against the body that had been missing from between them for months.

_There you are, sitting in the garden  
Clutching my coffee,  
Calling me sugar  
You called me sugar_

“Angel, I—”

The words were swallowed by the ravenous hunger of lips crashing against lips. Two bodies, now entwined together as close as a single entity, made their way towards the bed with fear, excitement, and relief.

Aziraphale’s phone rang, but he ignored it except to move it from the bed to the bedside table, along with Crowley’s sketch book.

_Have you ever wished for an endless night?  
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight?  
Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself  
Will it ever get better than tonight?  
Tonight_

Aziraphale knelt on the mattress, Crowley held firm in his lap by the legs still wrapped around his waist. Moving in tandem, the pair worked dutifully against the buttoned barriers to bliss. Firm, powerful hands cautiously slipped beneath shirt and jacket to slide them down wiry, graceful arms. Long, deft fingers twisted against fabric, dragging it up and over downy-soft curls. Crimson lips drew a map across the broad expanse of soft strength, searching hungrily. Aziraphale’s strong, dutiful hands ran up and down the spine beneath them, one pressing solidly to support while the other carefully lowered Crowley to recline against the pillows.

Aziraphale’s phone rang again, prompting him to throw it into the top drawer of the bedside table while he removed a tube.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked, digging his fingers into the waistband of Crowley’s trousers, tugging downward gently.

Crowley nodded with an eager intake of breath, lifting his hips. He placed his hands on Aziraphale’s wrists, helping to pull his trousers and pants down to his knees. “Need you, Angel. Please.”

Aziraphale leaned forward to bring their lips together once more. He cradled the back of Crowley’s head with his left hand while his right hand worked him open with gentle desperation.

Crowley struggled, held between Aziraphale’s two hands, to pull his feet out of his trouser legs the rest of the way. Once he had accomplished that herculean task, Crowley groped blindly about Aziraphale’s waist to find and unfasten the buttons and zippers there, tugging them down as Aziraphale continued to slide fingers inside of him to prepare.

Once Crowley felt properly ready, Aziraphale sat up again to gaze longingly down at him, his red hair fanned messily out over the pillows as he lie naked and open before Aziraphale.

“How is it possible for you to be even more beautiful now than you’ve ever been before?” Aziraphale whispered, bringing one of Crowley’s hands up to his lips.

Crowley took in a sharply broken breath, smiling as he reached up with his other hand to pull Aziraphale back down to him. “Am I a fool, Angel? To wonder if this is real?”

Aziraphale smiled playfully down at him, leaning close to whisper against Crowley’s lips. “Would you remain silent and think yourself a fool, or open your mouth to remove all doubt?”

Crowley laughed, sliding his arms around Aziraphale’s neck while lifting his own head to close the distance between them, kissing Aziraphale passionately.

Aziraphale broke the kiss to smile against Crowley’s lips. “One moment, my dear,” he said. Pulling his trousers the rest of the way down, Aziraphale kicked them off of his foot and re-positioned himself between Crowley’s legs. “Are you certain?”

Crowley scooted his hips up, kicking his legs into the air on either side of Aziraphale. “Yes, please, just, yes, yes to everything. Yes, to it all. _Anything_ , Angel, yes.”

“Have you… I mean, I don’t wish to be indelicate, but… I mean, it’s not a _no_ , either way, just…” Aziraphale made to reach for the drawer to search for a condom he hoped would be there and unexpired after not having purchased any since the last time he and Raphael had done this over three years prior.

“No one but you, Angel.” Crowley looked up at him, scared to ask the same question.

“Same,” Aziraphale said, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Crowley’s lips. “Just you.”

Trusting that neither of them had taken any different sex partners since their last time either of them had been checked for STIs, Aziraphale applied more lube and carefully pressed in, checking Crowley’s expression to make sure he wasn’t hurting him. It had been over four months since the last time they had done this. He wanted to be careful with something so precious to him.

Aziraphale began with a slow, leisurely pace to allow them both time to adjust, as if they had all the time in the world. He wanted to memorize every sound, sensation, and spasm that came from Crowley as they moved together. He was determined to fill in the gaps left by previous mistakes.

Crowley knew there was a time and a place for slow and steady, but this was a race against the end of the world. He wanted to have all of his Angel, and he wanted him **_now_**. He moved beneath Aziraphale in way he had hoped would encourage the angel to let go of all coherent thought and just _exist_ between their two bodies. He had been dreaming of sharing in this moment again for entirely too long. He couldn’t bear even thinking about going slow, not when there was so much lost time to make up for.

This wasn’t _just_ making love. It had become something more, something primal and _powerful_. Not painful, never for pain, but in this moment knotted into a string of fleeting moments, the only thing Aziraphale wanted was to fuck Crowley senseless. He wanted to chase all of the pain he himself had put his love through and drive it away with every flex of their hips.

Crowley was frantic with want, need, and desire. He didn’t want to think or question or worry or wonder. All he needed to do was to let go of everything that had been weighing him down since Christmas. He wanted to _feel good_ , and he wanted to feel _everything_ he had been missing. It didn’t need to make sense. Nothing needed to make sense. He just needed to feel _this,_ right here, simultaneously sheltered from the storm, held down against the raging winds, and fucked into beautiful oblivion beneath his angel.

“Fuck me, Angel, _Fuck me._ _Holy shit_ , nail me down,” Crowley near-yelled, lifting his hips as he spread his legs wider.

Aziraphale slammed into him more passionately, hitching Crowley’s hips up higher against him, gripping tightly onto his shoulders to keep him from scooting further away with each forceful thrust.

“I’m going to fuck you through the mattress,” Aziraphale growled a low and deep rumble against Crowley’s ear before angling in a way he knew would hit Crowley’s prostate just right. He was so focused on giving Crowley everything he had been missing and more, he didn’t even notice that his phone kept ringing in the drawer beside them.

Aziraphale sat upright, pulling one of Crowley’s legs up against his chest. Mouthing along the side of Crowley’s ankle, Aziraphale held one foot on his shoulder, with his other hand on the opposite hip, holding him close so he could drive in deeper and harder.

Aziraphale saw the flush beginning to bloom across Crowley’s chest, spurring him into a frenzy. _Fuck_ , he thought, _I’ve missed this so much._ _I’ve missed **you** so much. _“Come for me, Crowley. Come for me, just as you are,” he said, pounding against him faster. With Crowley’s foot still on his shoulder, Aziraphale turned his head just enough to bite down on the top of his ankle, sending Crowley into babbling hysterics, hands clenched and pulling at the sheets as he came.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley beneath his bent knee, dragging him nearly upside down to hold him closer in his lap as he continued to slam into Crowley. Aziraphale’s eyes traveled along the body writhing before him, meeting an adoring gaze as he came fast and hard while Crowley clenched around him.

Aziraphale sat back on his heels while pulling Crowley’s knees up to stay inside of him as they both tried to catch their breath. He placed a palm on Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale delighted in how he could feel the rapid fluttering of Crowley's heart beneath his heaving rib cage. “You all right down there?”

Pupils blown and sanity spent, Crowley merely nodded his affirmation.

“Good,” Aziraphale smiled down at him, tracing his fingertips along Crowley’s stomach and back over to his hip. “Because I’m not done with you yet,” he added with a quick twitch of his hips, voice deep and low. _We’ll make this work,_ he thought. _You are so precious to me. I won’t let anything happen to you._

There was a loud knock at the door.

“Whoever’s at the door needs to _go away_ ,” Aziraphale groaned, massaging the palms of his hands up and down over Crowley’s thighs and hips.

The knocking came again, louder and more frantic.

“I’ll send them off,” Aziraphale said. Crowley let out a disappointed whine as Aziraphale pulled out. He unsteadily got to his feet, throwing his robe on. He shot a quick glance at the mirror to wipe the remnants of Crowley’s lipstick off of his mouth and stumbled to the door.

“Gabe! Sandy!” He gasped in horror, tensing with fear as he cracked the door open a few centimeters to answer the incessant knocking. _This is my home! What are they **doing** here? How did they find me?_

“Dad said HR needed the rest of your paperwork. He wanted me to have you fill it out ASAP,” Gabe said, holding up a folder. “You weren’t answering your phone, so we got your address out of your personnel file and came over.”

 _Oh, **fuck** , _Aziraphale thought in a way diametrically opposite to all the ways he had thought it over and over again previously that evening.

Sandy pushed his way past Aziraphale to enter the living room, wrinkling his nose. “Something smells…Interesting in here. Like roses and…” Sandy let out a low, unsettling chuckle. “Something else.”

“Eh, um, well, uh,” Aziraphale stammered, wide eyed and clutching at his robe nervously as he had to turn his body entirely away from one to face the other.

Gabe noticed the lipstick marks on Aziraphale’s neck and chest as the robe shifted. He grinned as he took in the sight of the curls that were sweat-stuck to the sides of Aziraphale’s flushed face. “Ah, now I see why you weren’t answering your phone,” Gabe said, punching Aziraphale on the upper arm. “There’s hope for you after all!”

“What?” Terrified, Aziraphale flinched before he could stop himself.

“You’ve got a _girl_ back there,” Gabe laughed. “There’s lipstick all over you.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of… Of course. You caught me,” Aziraphale laughed with nervous relief. There wasn’t a _lot_ of relief, as they obviously knew _someone_ was in his bed, but at least they didn’t know _who_.

“As much as I hate to interrupt, we really _do_ need to go over this paperwork,” Gabe said, moving towards the couch to sit down.

 _I can’t do this,_ Aziraphale thought _. I can’t put Crowley at risk like this. I have to get Gabe and Sandy out of here._

“Um,” Aziraphale said, holding his hand up as he quickly stood to block the photograph of Crowley on his desk, knocking it over into the floor into the corner while purposefully knocking a binder off of the desk to mask the sound. “Can’t… Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked, leaning down to pick the binder up.

“I don’t think you understand what ASAP means, Aziraphale. It means as soon as—”

“Yes, yes, I, I do. I know. I just thought that perhaps tomorrow would be a better time.”

“I’d really prefer to get this turned in first thing in the morning,” Gabriel sighed wearily. “I missed lunch and I just want to get this over with so I can grab a bite and get ready for tomorrow.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Aziraphale asked, having an idea. “Actually, if you’ll give me a few minutes to get dressed, we could, could head out to dinner and discuss the paperwork further.”

Gabe blew a puff of air through his cheeks, nodding. “Sounds good. That works for me. It just means I get to eat sooner. Will your date be joining us?”

“Best not,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head with another nervous smile. “Tuckered out, you see.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Gabe grinned.

“Why don’t you both go on down to the car, and I’ll… I’ll get dressed and be along shortly. I’ll ride with you.” Aziraphale wanted to make sure he knew _exactly_ where Gabe and Sandy were at all times until he knew Crowley was out of harm’s way. It wouldn’t do for them to start snooping around and find more photographs, or worse, actually walk into the bedroom to find Crowley.

“Sounds good. But don’t be too long,” Gabe said as he walked through the door.

Aziraphale quickly locked the door behind him and ran back to the bedroom to find Crowley, still somewhat delightfully disoriented, waiting for him in his bed.

“This was a mistake,” Aziraphale said as he slipped through the door.

“What?” Crowley sat up in the bed as his heart sank.

“Gabe is here with Sandy. You can’t be seen with me,” Aziraphale said, remembering what Gabe said he’d do if he saw Crowley near him, but forgetting that Crowley still didn’t know about that part. His only focus was on keeping Crowley out of harm’s way, and harm was _physically_ within reaching distance just downstairs. The danger was more real than it had _ever_ been before, and the only thing keeping Aziraphale from coming _completely_ unglued was what would happen to Crowley if he did.

Crowley’s heart sank even further, making room for the increasing feelings of rejection that were settling in.

“I’m, er, uh, I’ve got to get dressed. I’m about to go have dinner with him,” Aziraphale said, scrubbing at his neck with a tissue in the mirror. “Wait a quarter hour or so after I leave and lock the door behind you when you go. Don’t stay for too long. You can’t be here when I get back.” He was in a panic trying to get together to leave fast enough to keep Gabe and Sandy from coming back up to the flat. He was focused on one thing, and one thing only. He couldn’t let them hurt Crowley.

“Right,” Crowley said, flatly. He knew this speech. He had heard it in one form or another more times than he cared to admit. It was always the same thing. Once they got what they wanted from him, they were done and it was time for him to _go_.

Aziraphale finished dressing and rushed out the door. Crowley peeked through the curtains to see him getting into the back seat of a ridiculous purple convertible. Once they had driven away, Crowley fixed his face, cleaning up his eyeliner and applying a fresh coat of lipstick, and got dressed. He tucked his sketch book under his arm and walked into the living room towards the door. He paused for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, having noticed the photo frame that had been on the desk now on the floor in the corner. Changing his mind, he let go of the knob and turned around. Placing his own sketchbook carefully upon the piano first, he picked up his photograph and placed it back on the desk. Eyes narrowing, his lips pursed as an idea came to him. Crowley walked over to Aziraphale’s bookshelves and began carefully removing all of the books.

Aziraphale turned the light on as he entered his flat. He caught something strange from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw the massacre that had been his bookshelves. _Every_ single book had been rearranged in random order, some even turned backwards or on their sides. There was a stack of bookmarks, tabs, and post-it notes that had once marked specific pages and passages in multiple books, sitting in the middle of the coffee table. Next to the pile was one of his own blank Thank You cards with a fresh, bright red lipstick kiss on it.

Aziraphale suddenly realized how the evening probably looked from Crowley’s perspective. “I deserved that,” he said out loud with slumped shoulders and a heavy sigh.

The only two shelves that had not been touched were the shelves full of his own hand-written books and the photo albums Aziraphale didn’t allow anyone to look at but Crowley. There was no evidence of even a single fingerprint marring the light layer of dust that settled along the spines or the shelves themselves.

Aziraphale almost smiled. Crowley may have been cross about what happened, but at least he didn’t _hate_ him for it. Maybe there was still hope. Surely it wouldn’t be _that_ much longer before Enoch thought Aziraphale was ready to handle the Eastern Gate division on his own and Gabe could go back to the states to head up the Brass Horn division again. Maybe Aziraphale could hold out a little longer. Crowley was worth it. Crowley was worth _everything_ Aziraphale was going through to get to the other side of this, he thought.

Aziraphale picked up the photo of Crowley on his desk and held it tightly to his chest. He sat down on the couch, pulling the blanket off of the back to wrap up in to go to sleep. He didn’t think he could handle going back into the bedroom. At least, not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end of act two. Only a few more chapters to go before the third and final act.
> 
> (I was getting this ready to save and accidentally posted instead of saving it to post at midnight. So... here you go, I guess. Pretend it's Saturday wherever you are.)


	25. All Your Renown Is Like The Summer Flower That Blooms And Dies; Because The Sunny Glow Which Brings It Forth, Soon Slays With Parching Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The language of flowers and the words and actions that bind hearts together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Norah Jones Cold, Cold, Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z17dLepWyp8)  
> [Daniela Andrade La Vie En Rose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ba_WoSZXvw)  
> And  
> [Christina Aguilera Guy What Takes His Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6INAIabIeHo)  
> [Christina Aguilera Bound To You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUTSZe_2T6U)  
> Both from the Burlesque soundtrack.
> 
> The chapter title is a quote from Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy.

Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about the night before _._ He scanned the set list for the next song and began to play.

_I've tried so hard my dear to show  
That you're my every dream  
Yet you're afraid each thing I do  
Is just some evil scheme_

_A memory from your lonesome past  
Keeps us so far apart  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind  
And melt your cold, cold heart_

Crowley rolled his eyes. _Oh, for fuck’s sake_ , he thought. He had hoped to lose himself in his work that evening, but, as tended to happen, the music took him right back through it. _I do this to myself every time_ , he thought. _Some people wear their hearts on their sleeve. I flick the shattered pieces of mine out into the universe with my fingertips._ His lip curled slightly into a sneer as he continued to sing.

_Another love before my time  
Made your heart sad an' blue  
And so my heart is paying now  
For things I didn't do_

Crowley knew something was off about all of this, but he didn’t know what. He thought if he could get to the bottom of it, maybe he could figure it out. Even Raphael knew something wasn’t right, based on what Tracy had said. And at the time, he thought Raphael was the enemy... But as it turned out, they were on the same side after all.

_In anger, unkind words are said  
That make the teardrops start  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind  
And melt your cold, cold heart_

Crowley wondered just what happened at Christmas that threw a spanner into the works. That was obviously the key.

_There was a time when I believed  
That you belonged to me  
But now I know your heart is shackled  
To a memory_

Aziraphale had made him _soft_. He had always kept everyone at arm’s length before. Apparently, that was something the two of them had in common. Crowley was so angry with himself. He couldn’t believe he ever let himself be so vulnerable and trusting.

_The more I learn to care for you  
The more we drift apart  
Why can't I free your doubtful mind  
And melt your cold, cold heart_

But to look at him now, he felt like he was just a walking angel-shaped hole with anxiety. _Yup, I’m an A-hole, all right,_ he thought as he played. _Just a great, big A-shaped-hole._

Crowley considered ordering a drink during his break. He had been so _good_ lately. It wasn’t like he was planning to get _drunk_. He just wanted something to take the edge off of how he was feeling. He was just about to walk to the bar to place an order when an older gentleman in a delivery uniform approached.

“I’m told you’re Anthony Crowley, is that right?”

“Who told you that?” Crowley asked, eyeing the pot plant in the man’s hands.

“If that’s not you, could you point me in his direction? I’ve a delivery to make.”

Crowley eyed the name tag. “Yeah, that’s me. Norman, is it?”

Norman nodded. “If you could sign here, please. The sender requested a delivery confirmation.”

“Now, I haven’t even read the card to see who it’s from yet. I’m not sure I’m willing to accept the delivery.”

The man chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.” He turned the pot around to show the card inside. “It’s fine with me either way. He’s already paid.”

Crowley took it, opening it carefully. His eyes narrowed slightly as his lip quirked up into a lopsided grin.

> **_Marigolds –_ **
> 
> **_Cruel treatment towards a loved one.  
>  Despair and grief over the loss of love  
>  The beauty and warmth of the rising sun  
>  Winning the affections of someone through hard work_ **
> 
> – **_A_**

“Shall I send them back? Tell him to bugger off and tend to his marigolds?”

“Nah,” Crowley said with a hint of a fond smile as he gently ran his fingers along the petals. “But I do think he should suffer and stew a bit.”

“What should I put on the return card?”

Crowley thought for a moment, taking the card. He pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, then pressed a lipstick thumbprint against the center of the return card, handing it back to Norman. “It’s not wax and a seal, but that should do it,” Crowley said, wiping his thumb off on a napkin.

Placing the marigolds on top of the piano, Crowley walked over to the bar. He reached over to grab a couple of cherries from the garnish station. “Water, please,” he requested, popping the cherries in his mouth with a contented smile.

Aziraphale stopped by the florist on his way to work to check on the delivery confirmation. He laughed, throwing his head back with a smile, after glancing down at the red thumb print in the center of the card.

Emboldened, he placed another order.

Crowley ran into Norman again on his way into the Lounge. This time, he had a bouquet instead of a pot plant. Crowley signed the clipboard and took the flowers, walking over to the piano. He held the large bouquet to his chest, inhaling the aroma with delight as he sat on the piano bench. He plucked the card out to read it.

>   
>  **_Snapdragon with Hyacinth –_**
> 
> **_Sorry for making a mistake._ **
> 
> **_— A_ **

Crowley smiled when he walked into the Lounge to begin his set. On top of the piano was a wide mouthed bowl full of flowers, wrapped in red ribbon, waiting for him.

> **_Aster –_ **
> 
> **_Patience  
>  Afterthought (or the wish things happened differently)_ **
> 
> **_Dill –_ **
> 
> **_For passion_ **
> 
> **_White Heather –_ **
> 
> **_Fulfillment of a dream_ **
> 
> **_Zinnia –_ **
> 
> **_Lasting affection  
>  Daily remembrance_ **
> 
> **_– A_ **

Crowley was working on a new set list when he heard a knock at his door. He peeked through the peephole to see the familiar uniform. He couldn’t hide his grin as he opened the door.

“Party by the name of Crowley, sir?” The deliveryman asked, holding up a hamper and a bouquet.

Crowley nodded, glancing at the name tag. “That’s me. Leslie, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie said as he tucked the bouquet carefully into the handle of the hamper, producing a clipboard. “Here’s your parcel, sir. You have to sign for it.”

Crowley signed the clipboard, handing it back.

“There you go,” the deliveryman said with a smile and a wave.

Crowley took the hamper and bouquet and brought them inside his room, placing them on the table. He bit his lip in a grin as he dug through the green grapes, satsumas, and assorted cheeses. Popping a grape in his mouth, he opened the card.

> **_Rosemary, Pansy, Fennel, Columbine, Rue, Daisy –_ **
> 
> **_“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love,  
>  remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...  
>  There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for  
>  you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace  
>  o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference.  
>  here’s a daisy.”_ **
> 
> **_– William Shakespeare, Hamlet_ **
> 
> **_I hope you enjoy the grapes.  
>  As I recall, you preferred the green ones._ **
> 
> **_— A_ **
> 
> ****

Crowley laughed and fell back on his bed with a dreamy sigh.

“Crowley!”

Crowley spun around at the sound of his name. He wasn’t expecting to hear it from that voice.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Loverboy sent you another delivery,” Lee said with a grin. “You were out, so I went ahead and signed for it. Had housekeeping let me in to put it in your room.”

“Oh, thanks. I appreciate that,” Crowley said with a smile. He was in too good of a mood to be fussed about someone in his room. Besides, Lee was one of the more rational, personable enforcers in Louis’s employ. He had access to all of the rooms upstairs as head of security. Crowley figured he could be trusted.

“You’ve got quite an assortment by now, don’t you? Practically a garden in there.”

Crowley just shrugged and hoped the blush he felt wasn’t too noticeable. Aziraphale had sent him plants, bouquets, or some other gift every day for going on nearly two weeks now.

“Either he did something _really_ bad, or you did something _really_ good,” Lee said with a small, but amused, laugh.

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted in response.

“Figure of speech,” Lee said with a cheeky grin before walking away.

Crowley walked into his room to see a potted strawberry plant and a bouquet of myrtle sprigs sitting on the table next to the window where the rest of his plants were arranged. He let out a small gasp as he reached for the card.

> **_Strawberry –_ **
> 
> **_Sweetness in life and character_ **
> 
> **_Myrtle –_ **
> 
> **_Fidelity_ **
> 
> **_– A_ **

Crowley nearly dropped the card. “Oh, Angel.” He covered his mouth with his hand, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “My sweet, sweet Angel.” With a shaking sigh, he closed his eyes, pushing a tear down his cheek. “You _do_.”

Aziraphale, taking a chance, set out on a mission. He walked to the florist shop he had given so much business to recently to make a purchase to deliver in person. Stepping outside with his carefully-wrapped parcel, he made his way to Covent Garden.

_Hold me close and hold me fast  
This magic spell you cast  
This is la vie en rose_

Aziraphale smiled as he heard the voice of his heart, pointing his feet to bring him closer.

_When you kiss me heaven sighs  
And though I close my eyes  
I see la vie en rose_

Crowley sat, eyes closed against the afternoon sunlight that shone brightly against his loose hair, a fiery vision in rolled up jeans and bare feet.

_When you press me to your heart  
I'm in a world apart  
A world where roses bloom_

Aziraphale dropped the flower into Crowley’s guitar case. Crowley opened his eyes to see the single long-stemmed red rose. His eyes stopped briefly at the sight of the ring on Aziraphale’s pinky. Crowley’s eyes traveled up with a blissful smile to find Aziraphale, his halo glowing brightly in the sunshine, smiling back at him.

_And when you speak  
Angels sing from above  
Everyday words seem  
To turn into love songs_

Locking eyes, Crowley sang directly to Aziraphale and no one else.

_  
Give your heart and soul to me  
And life will always be la vie en rose  
_

“It’s not like Gabe is likely to be in Edmonton tonight. It… It should be fine.” Aziraphale said, convincing himself. “I’ll just go and be supportive, that’s all. That’s enough, isn’t it?” He put his phone in the console of his car, grabbed the bouquet of flowers he had picked up along the way, and stepped outside.

Aziraphale walked into the building, red and white tulips in hand. Finding the seat Tracy had reserved for him in the front row, he sat down to watch the show.

He was quite impressed with the level of skill the performers showed in their acts, but he truly was only here for one reason, and that reason had just walked onto the stage.

_A guy what takes his time, I'll go for any time  
I'm a fast movin' gal who likes them slow_

Crowley looked directly at Aziraphale in the audience, licking his lips and moving towards him. His eyes flicked down to the bouquet in Aziraphale’s hands.

_Got no use for fancy driving, wanna to see a guy arriving in low_

Crowley leaned forward, swiveling his hips side to side as he lowered down in front of Aziraphale “Are those for someone special?” Crowley whispered, before coming back up from his crouch with a pop of his hip.

_  
I'd be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time_

“You know they are,” Aziraphale replied with an arch of his eyebrow.

Crowley curled his finger in a come-hither motion, turning it back down to hook into Aziraphale’s collar, leading him up to the stage.

_A hurry-up affair, I always give the air  
Wouldn't give any rushing gent a smile_

Crowley pushed Aziraphale down into the throne with a hand flat against his chest, taking the bouquet from him and bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply.

_  
I would go for any single who would condescend to linger awhile_

Crowley strutted a circle around the throne, coyly peeking out from behind the flowers while Aziraphale watched him, turning his head to follow.

_  
What a lullaby would be supplied to have a guy what takes his time, ooh_

Crowley crawled into Aziraphale’s lap, flipping his hair to whip his ponytail around.

_A guy what takes his time, I'd go for any time  
A hasty job really spoils a master's touch_

Crowley ran his free hand up Aziraphale’s arms and over his neck to cup his face.

_I don't like a big commotion, I'm a demon for slow motion or such_

“Oh, that’s a lie,” Aziraphale whispered with a grin. “Speed demon.”

Crowley winked, sliding his fingers along Aziraphale’s jaw as he turned away to sit in his lap, facing out.

_Why should I deny that I would die to know a guy who takes his time_

Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale, running his hand through his soft curls while crossing and uncrossing his legs with the music.

_There isn't any fun in getting something done  
If you're rushed when you have to make the grade_

Crowley twisted around to sit across Aziraphale’s lap, legs over to one side, bouquet on his chest, with his arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s neck.

__

_  
I can spot an amateur, appreciate a connoisseur in trade  
Who would qualify, no alibi, to be the guy who takes his time_

Crowley had an idea. “Now pick me up and carry me off the stage through that door,” Crowley whispered, pointing dramatically to the stage exit.

Aziraphale did as he was told, trying to keep the grin at a minimum as Crowley kicked his feet and waved an excited goodbye to the cheers of the audience.

“That was fun,” Crowley said as Aziraphale gently lowered him to stand backstage. “You should come to the show more often.”

“I just might.”

“If you did,” Crowley began, leading Aziraphale down the hallway to where he and Dana shared a dressing room, “There’s a routine I was thinking about that you might fit into.” Crowley closed the door behind them, walking past Aziraphale over to his phone to bring up his music app. “I’ve been listening to this soundtrack a lot lately, and there was one song in particular that made me think of you. We can’t be too loud, but maybe you’d let me show you?”

Aziraphale nodded as he placed the bouquet on the table, prompting Crowley to start the music.

Crowley moved towards Aziraphale.

_Sweet love, sweet love  
Trapped in your love  
I've opened up, unsure I can trust  
My heart and I were buried in dust  
Free me, free us_

Aziraphale swallowed audibly. “This, this is a routine you’re working on?” He asked as Crowley ran his hands up along Aziraphale's sides and chest.

_You're all I need when I'm holding you tight  
If you walk away I will suffer tonight_

“Only for you,” Crowley replied, nuzzling gently against Aziraphale’s cheek, whispering along with the lyrics.

_I found a man I can trust  
And boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time_

Crowley leaned back to look into Aziraphale’s eyes before running his fingers up into Aziraphale's hair, bringing their lips together.

_  
Can't you see that I'm bound in chains?  
I finally found my way  
I am bound to you  
I am bound to you_

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him tightly.

_So much, so young, I've faced on my own  
Walls I built up became my home_

Moving in unison, Aziraphale backed Crowley up against the wall.

_I'm strong and I'm sure there's a fire in us  
Sweet love, so pure_

Crowley threw his head back, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the moan as Aziraphale bit down right where Crowley’s neck met his shoulder.

_I catch my breath we're just one beating heart  
And I brace myself, please don't tear this apart_

“If you don’t want to be with me, you’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Crowley breathed out in a whisper, shivering as Aziraphale mouthed along his neck just below his jaw.

“This is why we can’t be alone together,” Aziraphale spoke against Crowley’s skin, reaching down to lift Crowley up by his knees.

“Why?” Crowley asked, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and his legs around his waist as the angel began to grind him against the wall.

_Suddenly the moment's here  
I embrace my fears  
All that I have been carrying all these years  
Do I risk it all, come this far just to fall, fall?_

“Because _this_ happens,” Aziraphale replied, punctuating it with a particularly aggressive thrust of his hips. A growling moan escaped Crowley’s mouth briefly before being covered by Aziraphale’s own.

_Oh, I can trust  
And boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time_

Crowley gasped after Aziraphale finally pulled back from the kiss. “No,” he rasped, nuzzling his nose against Aziraphale’s cheek. “I mean why can’t we just _be_ together? What _happened_ to us, Angel?”

_  
Can't you see that I'm bound in chains  
And finally found my way  
I am bound to you_

Aziraphale’s hips stilled. He pulled his face back just enough to look into Crowley’s eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t think he could. It wasn’t exactly like he had been making the best decisions lately. He wasn’t sure what to do.

“I know you want me, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’ve been sending me coded bouquets and pot plants for the last two weeks.” Crowley, still wrapped around Aziraphale, wiggled slightly. “Plus, my feet aren’t on the floor because you’re between my legs with me pinned against this wall. That’s… That’s pretty obvious, I think,” he grinned, biting one side of his lip and letting it pop back out before running the tip of his tongue across it.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale sighed wearily. “There’s _so_ much I regret,” he said, leaning his head against his shoulder.

“I don’t believe you when you say you don’t love me. _You_ _know_ that. _I_ know that.” Crowley ran his long fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “Look at me, Angel,” he asked in a fragile voice.

Aziraphale lifted his head back up, mournful eyes tracking to meet Crowley’s own.

Crowley brushed Aziraphale’s hair back from his forehead with one hand while the other held gentle against his cheek. “What are we doing this dance for, Angel?”

 _For you_ , Aziraphale thought. _For your life. I am a direct link to the ones who hurt you. They almost **killed** you. They still **could**. I’m a danger to you. I love you so much it frightens me, because I can’t bear to watch someone else I love get hurt, yet I can’t seem to stay away. I’ve never loved **anyone** the way I love you._

Aziraphale wondered if he had the nerve to actually come out and say it. Would it help or hurt? He opened his mouth to speak, not entirely certain of what words would come out.

Suddenly there were lips pressed against Aziraphale’s own as a tongue slipped past to part them. His body acted of its own accord, hitching Crowley’s legs up just a bit higher as he pressed forward against Crowley once more.

There was a competition between Aziraphale’s hips and Crowley’s tongue over which could bring the other more pleasure and joy, and they were both the winner. Crowley only pulled back from the kiss to keep from biting down too hard to stop himself from shouting at a particularly effective thrust that lifted him a few centimeters up the wall. He clung tightly to Aziraphale, grabbing a handful of blonde curls as he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, with the new pace that had been set.

“This is like our first time, in _our_ Eden, Angel. Do you remember?” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s skin. “With the ducks?”

Aziraphale let out a small huff of an affectionate laugh at that last part. Out of all the things to point out about their secluded little paradise, the first to come to Crowley’s mind was the ducks. God, he loved this ridiculous creature in his arms. “I could never forget,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear as he continued to lovingly nail him to the wall.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s face closer to his own, punctuating his words between the presses of lips together. “What do you want, Angel? Anything you want, I’ll give it. You like words. I’ll give you words. I’ll give you all of the words I know. Anything you need. Ask and you’ll have it.”

“I want _you_ ,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips. “I want you _so much_.”

“I’m yours,” Crowley said, wide-eyed and holding Aziraphale’s face in his hands as they continued to grind together. “I’ve _always_ been yours.”

“But I can’t have you,” Aziraphale lamented, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears he feared were coming.

“You _already_ have me, words and all. I’m right here, in your arms,” Crowley whispered against his lips desperately. “Just _keep_ me, _love_ me, _have_ me, _free_ me, _save_ me.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes just in time to see the flush beginning to creep down Crowley’s throat as he continued to babble quietly. He tightened his grip and dug his fingers into Crowley’s skin where he was holding him up by the thighs as he increased his speed and pressure.

“ _Want_ you, _need_ you, _love_ you, _keep_ me, _fuck_ me, _love_ you, yours, _yours_ , **_yours_**!” Crowley’s whispers broke as his back arched, pressing him harder against Aziraphale.

 _The things you do to me,_ Aziraphale thought _. You’re all I want. You’re **everything**. I have to show you what you mean to me._

Pupils blown wide, eyes locked onto each other, Crowley gasped out, “I believe in us,” still holding Aziraphale’s face as he came.

 _I love you_ , Aziraphale thought, ignoring his own urge towards completion. _I have to fix this. I have to make this right for you. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you, but I have to try._ “Crowley, I—"

The lights overhead flicked on, causing them both to flinch. Aziraphale nearly dropped Crowley, startled by the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Oh, I… So sorry, Crawley. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t, I didn’t know you were in here,” Dana stammered, looking everywhere but at them. “I just needed to get my bag,” she said, averting her eyes as Aziraphale ran past her. Dana’s shoulders slumped when she finally looked at Crowley. “Oh, fuck, Crowley. I would have waited if I had known you two were in here having—"

“It’s all right, Dana.” Crowley, interrupted, flushed both from the previous activities along with embarrassment at being walked in on. He tried to catch his breath as he watched Aziraphale run out the door like a rabbit into the briars. “You couldn’t have known,“ he said quietly, regarding Dana with a doleful expression.

_I am  
Ooh, I am  
I'm bound to you_

Crowley reached over to turn off the song that had been playing on loop.

Aziraphale was absolutely furious with himself. How could he be so stupid? Hadn’t he learned his lesson by now? What if that had been Gabe or Sandy to walk in on them? It wouldn’t be the first time. The only reason they hadn’t just barged in recently was the lock on his front door. This time _anybody_ could have walked in on them. They had been _lucky_ it was only Dana.

When he got to his car, he saw several missed calls and texts from Gabe.

> **Aziraphale, answer your  
>  phone.**
> 
> **Call me bck.**
> 
> **Back.**
> 
> **I’m about to get  
>  irritated.**
> 
> **Aziraphale, I don’t  
>  think you understand.  
> When I call, YOU  
> ANSWER.**
> 
> **ANDSWER YOUR  
>  GODDAMN PHONE**

Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hand, letting out a frustrated sigh as he tried to figure out what to say to Gabe when two more texts came through.

> **What the fuck are  
>  you doing out in  
> Edmonton?**
> 
> **I’m on my way.**

Panic flooded through Aziraphale like a raging storm. _How does he know where I am?_

Grasping at the closest thing to the truth he could without giving himself away, he called Gabe back.

“So sorry!” He blathered into the phone. “My next-door neighbor had a stage event tonight in Edmonton. They don’t allow mobile phones in the audience, so I left it in the car.”

“Oh,” Gabe said. “Is that like a play? What was it?”

Aziraphale audibly swallowed. “The Divine Comedy.”

“A comedy? I love comedies. Are they going to do it again?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like… Not like that.” _You’d think someone who worked in publishing might have **actually** picked up a book in their free time_, Aziraphale thought. “It’s an Italian drama.”

“Oh, ew,” Gabe exclaimed with disgust. “Never mind that, then. Anyway, even if you aren’t going to attend _every_ step of the tour, you still need to confirm your flight reservations for the ones you _will_ be going to.”

“Oh, right. I’ll… I’ll do that when I get a chance to go over the… Over the documents once I get home. They’re on my laptop, but I, I don’t have it with me.”

“I’ll be up for a bit longer. You can call me back when you get home, then.”

“Yes, jolly good,” Aziraphale replied nervously. “Just out of curiosity, how, h-how did you know where I was?”

“Oh, yeah, that. I tracked your phone through the location permissions of your work app. I had IT include that when they set up your phone.”

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold.

He was being careless. Crowley’s life was at stake, and for as long as Gabe and Sandy were on this side of the planet, Aziraphale was a potential magnet for that danger, now more than ever. He couldn’t trust himself to be careful around Crowley, and this entire evening had just confirmed it.

“I’m just going to have to bite the bullet and do the whole tour to move things ahead faster,” Aziraphale said to himself, miserably.

As soon as Aziraphale got home, he sat down at his laptop to go over the schedule with Gabe. They were to fly into Paris on Sunday evening as the first stop. The flight was for 7pm, but they were to be at the airport by 5. That left Aziraphale all of Saturday and most of Sunday to take care of anything he needed to do before they left.

“I’ll be receiving our tickets tomorrow,” Gabe explained, “So you won’t need to worry about that part. I’ve already got the micro-sims for our phones—”

“My phone isn’t compatible with that.” Aziraphale quickly interjected.

“Jesus, Aziraphale! We don’t have time for your bullshit,” Gabe growled.

“It's all right. I’ve already discussed it with IT. A courier will deliver an unlocked global phone to our hotel. Until then, I’ll be with you, anyway, and you’re the only one who is going to be calling me.”

Gabe sighed in concession. “Fine, all right. Whatever. That’ll work. Just make sure you’ve got everything packed and ready by tomorrow so nothing else goes wrong on Sunday.”

> **I wanted to apologize  
>  for ** **running off last** **  
> night.**
> 
> **Nah  
>  I get it and I’m not mad**
> 
> **Still, I feel awful. 😐**
> 
> **If it makes you feel better  
>  I’m ONLY not mad  
> because you SAID  
> something about it**
> 
> **Actually, it does.  
>  Thank you. 💞**
> 
> **That apple-blossom azalea  
>  bonsai was cheating and  
> u know it 😂**
> 
> **I thought it was rather  
>  clever.**
> 
> **It was  
>  but it’s not REALLY  
> an apple blossom**
> 
> **You mentioned our  
>  Eden last night.  
>  Should I have sent  
>  an actual apple tree  
>  to your hotel room?**
> 
> **Point taken.**
> 
> **Or a duck?**
> 
> **YES! 🤪🤪🤪  
>  ALWAYS SEND A DUCK**
> 
> **I’ll keep that in mind.**
> 
> **Still, if I didn’t know  
>  better I might be  
> concerned about a  
> threat to my life 😮**
> 
> **What???**
> 
> **I’m messing with u  
>  But Azaleas can mean  
> death threats**

Aziraphale rubbed his face harshly. “Oh, good lord. How the Hell did _you_ remember that and _I_ didn’t? I thought you didn’t read books.” He took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly through pursed lips. “I’ve got to tell him. This time I can’t get distracted or scared off by an interruption.” He didn’t feel like it was the sort of thing one did over a text.

> **I need to talk to you  
>  ** **about something. Can  
>  I see you tomorrow?**
> 
> **Let’s have lunch**
> 
> **I’ll take u anywhere u  
>  want to go**
> 
> **I’d like that.  
> ** **But you pick.**
> 
> **3 courses at Savoy Grill?**
> 
> **😮 Sounds too fancy.**
> 
> **Nonsense**
> 
> **I want to ❤️**
> 
> **I get bonus pay  
>  at work now 😁**
> 
> **And you’ve sent me  
>  so many pot plants and  
> flowers **
> 
> **Those were gifts. 😍**
> 
> **So is this  
>  Don’t make me beg  
> Let me feed u something  
> sinfully delicious that  
> will cling to your hips** **😈** **  
> and maybe something  
>  to nibble from the  
> kitchen, too😘** **💋** **  
>   
> **
> 
> **Fine.💖 When is good  
>  for you?**
> 
> **I have to be somewhere  
>  at 5:00, but I’m free all  
>  day before that.**
> 
> **We have a 12:30  
>  reservation**
> 
> **It’s a date. 🥰  
>  I’ll meet you there.**
> 
> **Don’t wear anything  
>  with overly-   
>  complicated fasteners.  
> ** **I already know what  
>  I'm having for dessert.  
>  😘😉**
> 
> **💋💞**

Aziraphale awoke with a start as the uncomfortably familiar ringtone played. He looked at the clock with irritation. What did Gabe want at 5:30 in the morning? He was already going to see him at the airport in just under twelve hours. Aziraphale grunted his displeasure and answered the call.

“Good morning, Ga—"

“There was a typo on the itinerary,” Gabe interrupted. “I just saw the tickets. The flight isn’t at 7:00pm. It’s at 7:00am. We have to go. Did you get your stuff packed up last night like I told you?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But I did have—”

“The car service is picking me up now. We’re headed your way next. Sandy is already at the airport. Be outside _or else_.”

Gabe hung up before Aziraphale could say anything further. He scrambled around to get dressed and gather his bags. He _definitely_ didn’t want to begin this extended trip with Gabe already angry with him.

Just before he headed out the door, Aziraphale rushed over to his desk to pick up the phone on the charger. He typed out a text.

> **Plans changed. My  
>  flight is earlier than  
>  I thought. We’re  
>  leaving right now.   
>  I'm going to be away  
>  for a while, I’m   
>  afraid. Probably for   
>  at least a few weeks.  
>  I won't have access  
>  to this phone until  
>  I return. I will fix  
>  things for us both.  
>  I have a plan, but it  
>  will take time. I had   
>  intended to discuss  
>  this with you today  
>  but there’s no time.   
>  I owe you an  
>  explanation, and an  
>  apology. You’ll have  
>  both when I return  
>  to you. I can hardly  
>  wait to see you again.   
>  Miss you already,  
>  my heart.  
>  I love you so much.  
>  💞😘🥰😍💞  
>   
> **

He smiled softly at his phone as he pressed send. He turned off sound and vibration so as to keep it from being a nuisance to the neighbors while he was gone. Carefully placing the phone back on the desk, he turned out the lights and rushed out the door to head to the airport.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale’s phone lit up in the early morning darkness as a notification flashed on the screen.

> **_MESSAGE FAILED  
>  RESEND?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CBC’s own Noodlefrog and Shinymathom for help with some of the flower suggestions, as well as Quannon for reminding me how much I love Norah Jones
> 
> I JUST ADDED some art done by Miel Petit for this chapter. You can view it on [Tumblr as well.](https://amadness2method.tumblr.com/post/626370907175337984/thank-you-for-this-gorgeous-art-youve-done-for-my).


	26. The Path To Paradise Begins In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The difference one missed message can make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's music:
> 
> [Norah Jones - Turn Me On ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwUtA8bUS30)  
> [Sara Bareilles - Eden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LApkj1GiEzA)  
> [P!nk - So What ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJfFZqTlWrQ)  
> [A Great Big World - Say Something ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVgixOjGhVU)  
> [Extreme – More Than Words makes a return ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrIiLvg58SY)  
> [Caitlin Rose – Own Side ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxQ9HS7Ao1I)
> 
> Chapter Title from Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy

“You and I are going to be sharing a suite,” Gabe said, handing Aziraphale a key card at the hotel counter as they checked in.

“But I thought you and Sandy would share, and I’d share with Enoch.”

“Dad’s not coming,” Gabe’s violet eyes bore right through Aziraphale.

_Oh._ “He’s not? I see. I’m surprised you aren’t sharing with Sandy. I mean, you two being best friends, after all.”

“And you and I are brothers,” Gabe said, gripping Aziraphale’s shoulder too tightly for comfort with one of his large hands. “Sandy has a different schedule than we do. You and I are going to be together the whole time so I can teach you what is expected of you.”

Aziraphale smiled with his mouth and eyebrows, but the light was slowly fading from his eyes, and they hadn’t even made it to the room yet.

Still, Aziraphale couldn’t help but be at least a _little_ bit excited about the first stop of the tour. They were in Paris. He might have to spend all of his time with Gabe and some of it with Sandy, but at least he could sublimate his sorrow with pastry.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to lunch after missing breakfast,” Gabe said as Aziraphale dragged their baggage through the door to their suite.

“I know what you mean,” Aziraphale replied. “There’s only so much a thimble of juice and a packet of almonds can do.” He sat down in one of the chairs in the sitting area. “Did you want to go somewhere or have room service send something up?”

“Oh, I’ve already ordered our lunch,” Gabe said, still looking down at his phone.

“You have?” Aziraphale asked with disappointment. He had rather been looking forward to crepes. _You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris_ , he thought.

Gabe stood up to answer the soft knock on the door. A cart was wheeled in with two covered dishes. The first plate placed upon the table was a thick hamburger covered in gruyere and mushrooms, with a pile of wide-cut chips next to it.

“Oh, that’s not for him,” Gabe said as the server placed the plate in front of Aziraphale. “That one is mine.” He slid the plate in front of himself, unfolding his napkin and silverware.

The server placed a small plate in front of Aziraphale and promptly left the room.

“What is this?” Aziraphale asked, looking between the two plates.

“They call it a Niçoise salad.”

Aziraphale turned up his nose. “This is _not_ a Niçoise salad. A Niçoise salad has tuna, and eggs, olives and potatoes… Sometimes tomatoes or capers, and _definitely_ dressing.” Aziraphale said, rummaging through with his fork. “This is just dry lettuce and green beans.”

“I had them hold the things you didn’t need.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you did?”

“I told you. You’re going to need to be presentable.”

“So, you decided I didn’t need anything but this?”

“You know what? You have a point. Protein builds muscle. Next time I’ll let you have some tuna.”

_Oh, how **magnanimous** of you_, Aziraphale thought, cutting his eyes back and forth from Gabe to both of their plates while being careful to keep his mouth shut. He stared down at his own plate, stabbing a green bean with his fork. Coming home to Crowley would be worth it all, he reminded himself.

“Oh, my god, this is incredible,” Gabe spoke around the large bite of hamburger in his mouth. “I think they call this brioche or something. It’s…” His eyes rolled back in his head as he swallowed with a delighted sound. “So amazing. You can’t get a hamburger like this back home. I’m _definitely_ getting this again. Maybe if you do a good enough job this week, I might let you have a bite of mine before we leave,” Gabe said, shoving a thick, golden chip in his mouth with a wink.

Aziraphale smiled weakly as he chewed his green bean.

_This is for Crowley_ , Aziraphale reminded himself. _Crowley is more important than crepes or brioche, or anything Gabe will do._

_Like a flower waiting to bloom  
Like a light bulb in a dark room  
I'm just sittin' here waiting for you  
To come on home and turn me on_

Crowley felt like a fool for still holding out hope. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t this forgiving of _anyone_ else.

_Like the desert waiting for the rain  
Like a school kid waiting for the spring  
I'm just sittin' here waiting for you  
To come on home and turn me on_

It had been a few weeks already with no word from Aziraphale whatsoever. Crowley had been trying his best to not let it get to him, but he was starting to fray around the edges.

_My poor heart, it's been so dark  
Since you've been gone  
After all, you're the one who turns me off  
But you're the only one who can turn me back on_

Crowley decided he could be angry later. He just wanted to know that Aziraphale was okay, and that Crowley could come _home._ They could argue about it all later, at _home_ , _together_.

_My hi-fi is waiting for a new tune  
My glass is waiting for some fresh ice cubes  
I'm just sittin' here waiting for you  
To come on home and turn me on, turn me on_

Crowley spotted a familiar face at a table as he turned around to stand up from the bench for his break. _Well, well, well,_ he thought to himself. _Look who we have here._ He sauntered over to the table and sat down, holding up one finger with a nod towards the bar.

“I suppose this is why I haven’t seen Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a smirk. “How long have you been in town? Is he with Raphael, then? Have the two of them run off together to the countryside to go antiquing and train dogs of astonishing pedigree?”

Linda cocked her head to the side with patronizing tolerance. “No, Raphael is at home by himself. I’m in London alone,” Linda replied. “I came to see you.”

Crowley regarded her skeptically

“Well, I actually, I came to London to work on a restoration project, but I came _here_ because I thought you might be interested in helping.”

Crowley considered her. “I don’t really know anything about it.”

“I could teach you,” Linda shrugged. “The work itself isn’t so bad. The main thing is making sure you preserve the integrity of the art itself. I’ve seen your work. I think you could do this well.”

“Don’t you usually work alone?”

“On smaller projects, sure. But this is going to be a bit outside of my ability given the time involved,” Linda explained. “Sometimes I have to sub-contract in assistance to meet deadlines.”

“Surely you have other people who are better qualified to help.” Crowley looked up to nod thanks to the server who placed a drink in front of him. Taking a sip, he continued. “Why have you come to me? Why not ask them?”

Linda reached out to hold his hand. “I _like_ you, Crowley. Raphael and I _both_ do. We think you’re good for Aziraphale, and when you two finally—”

“Aziraphale is _gone_ ,” Crowley said, bitterly, yanking his hand back. “I haven’t seen or heard from him in _weeks_.”

Linda thought she misheard him. “What?”

Crowley’s patience was at its end. It had been over a month since he had seen or heard anything from Aziraphale. Every time he passed by Aziraphale’s flat, his car was gone. He decided to go to the diner to try to catch him at work or at least leave a message for him.

“Aziraphale doesn’t work here anymore,” Newt said, looking confused.

“What?” Crowley near-shouted, startling some of the other patrons trying to have a quiet meal.

“Yeah, he, um… He quit a couple of months ago. Well, maybe not quite two months, but it’s been over a month, I know that much. You didn’t know?”

“No, uh,” Crowley said quietly. “I didn’t. Did he say where he was going?”

Newt shrugged. “I want to say he went to work for his family. Something about a publishing company, I think it was.”

Crowley nodded slowly, looking at the floor. “Right.”

Tracy heard a noise in the hallway. She popped her head out the front door of her flat to investigate.

“Oh, hey, Tracy,” Crowley greeted her without any inflection to his voice. “I saw his car was gone. I was going to leave these here for him since he isn’t home right now,” Crowley said as he tried unsuccessfully to slip a couple of envelopes under Aziraphale’s door. He propped the larger one up against the door, tucking the smaller ones behind it.

“I haven’t seen Mr. Aziraphale in a long time. His parking spot has been empty, and the flat’s been quiet and dark for weeks.”

“He left? Just… left?” Crowley asked her with wide-eyed despair, leaning against the wall due to suddenly feeling light-headed.

Tracy shrugged. “I don’t know, love,” she said, tilting her head with a sympathetic frown. “But I haven’t seen him in ages. Would you like to come inside for a nice cup of tea?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I don’t think… I don’t think tea is going to do the job I need done. Thank you, though. I’m… I’m just gonna go.”

“Will you be at rehearsal tomorrow?”

Crowley nodded silently with a wave, texting as he walked away.

“Right, so he’s gone, I guess,” Crowley said, turning the key in the ignition.

_Let me paint a picture for you then I'll have to teach you to see it  
Illustrate the remnants of the life I used to live here in Eden_

“Oh, uh, er, uh, really?” Crowley sputtered at the radio. “Really? Okay, yeah, right. This is what we’re doing, then? Okay.”

_  
Rolled a lucky pair of dice, ended up paradise  
Landed on a snake's eyes, took a bite and ended up bleeding_

“Fuckin’ Hell, did I ever,” He rolled his eyes with a disgusted grunt.

_You know if I could change anything, I think I would start with the name  
The truth is all those angels started acting the same  
And I know there's no going back now cause  
Life in Eden  
Life in Eden changed  
  
_

“He told me… That _bastard_ angel told me he was the same as the rest of them. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t _fucking_ believe him.” Crowley tried to choke back an angry laugh. “And now he’s up and left me without a word, just like that whole lot. I’m such an idiot.”

_  
Walking in the garden was a serpent-shaped heart and he told me  
That what is broken cannot show, and less than beautiful is worse than unholy  
Idolized my innocence, stole it from me in the end  
Now I'm wide awakened and still paying for the poison they sold me_

“How long did it take you to fuck me? You said you didn’t care about that, but you just _jumped_ on the chance, didn’t you? And I _gave_ it to you so I wouldn’t lose you.” He ran his hand over his forehead and up into his hair, squeezing a handful at the top. “How pathetic is that? But you just kept taking, didn’t you? You _did_. I didn’t think that’s what you were doing at first,” Crowley sneered at the radio. “No, I thought you wanted _me_. Said you _worshipped_ me. Called me beautiful and precious and… And… _Fuck_ ,” he sighed wearily. “You… But you…” He pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head as he sat behind the wheel, still unable to start driving.

_No way to make the pain play fair  
It doesn't disappear just because you say it isn't there  
  
_

“ ** _NO! NO_** , you motherfucker!” Crowley beat his steering wheel with his fist as he screamed at the radio. “It **_was_** there, and it **_wasn’t_** a lie. I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but _you loved me_.” His voice cracked into a fragile whisper. “You did. I _know_ you did.” He pushed his sunglasses up with his knuckles to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. “No matter how much I wish it weren’t true, I love you, too.”

_There was a time when I was taking all bets  
That this place was even better than as good as it gets  
And now looking back from the outside in  
I think I was choking on the air in Eden  
Life in Eden changed_

“ ** _FUCK_**!” He shouted, slapping the knob on the radio to turn it off. “How fucking dare you.”

Aziraphale leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching as people mingled about. Gabe was across the room, his back turned to Aziraphale, heavily engaged in some random conversation with even more random people.

“Oyster?” A server held a tray towards Aziraphale in offering.

Aziraphale made a sour face and shook his head, pushing the tray away. “No, thank you.” Eating had become a bit of a chore for Aziraphale over the last few weeks. He had lost not only his appetite, but his zeal for culinary delights. What used to bring him joy now brought him nothing but discomfort and disgust. Gabe had commented on how proud he was of Aziraphale’s willpower as of late. The fact that Aziraphale now ate only barely enough to keep himself functional, and even then, he just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, didn’t even register. Not that anyone paid any attention to him except when they needed him for some reason or another.

“You’ve got something under your nose. Might want to be more careful when you’re eating, representing the company and all,” Sandy said, stepping next to him to take a few oysters from the tray.

“Oh?” Aziraphale knew he didn’t have food on his face. He would have had to have eaten for that. Taking a napkin to dab, he drew back to find a bit of red. _Another nosebleed_ , he thought to himself. “I’ll go get cleaned up,” Aziraphale quietly said to Sandy, excusing himself to the restroom.

It would all be better once he got home to Crowley. That was the thought that kept him going.

Crowley took a deep breath as the music began.

_I guess I just lost my husband  
I don't know where he went  
So I'm gonna drink my money  
I'm not gonna pay his rent (nope)_

Crowley went through the motions of the routine, but that’s all it was. Just the motions. There was no feeling behind it, and he was beginning to realize that by the way he moved. _That’s a goddamned lie, he thought. There’s **too much** feeling behind all of this. _He was rather tired of all of the emotions he had, and was looking forward to silencing them later so he could sleep.

_And I don't need you  
And guess what  
I'm having more fun  
And now that we're done  
I'm gonna show you tonight  
I’m all right, I’m just fine_

He wasn’t.

Crowley had been absolutely _dreading_ this rehearsal. Crowley didn’t want to be around anybody at all, but especially not when the music haunted and taunted him like this.

_You weren't there  
You never were  
You want it all  
But that's not fair  
I gave you love  
I gave my all  
You weren't there  
You let me fall_

He didn’t even realize he was just sitting there, on his knees with his fists balled up in front of the throne, until Tracy and Dana were helping him to his feet.

“You go on home now, there’s a love. I’m going to take you off of the schedule for a little while, okay?”

Dana leaned back to whisper to Tracy. “For how long?”

Tracy’s eyebrows lifted slightly as she looked sadly at Crowley. “For the foreseeable future.”

Aziraphale’s head was pounding as he stooped down to pick up and sort the scattered paperwork from the floor with his left hand.

_Crowley,_ he thought _. Crowley is what is waiting for me on the other side of all of this. Once I get home to him, it’s all going to be okay._

Crowley walked into the lounge, no makeup on, wearing sunglasses to begin his shift. _It’s been five weeks to the day, Angel, and I **still** haven’t seen or heard from you._ He sat down at the piano, ignoring his set list, and began to play.

_Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'll be the one, if you want me to  
Anywhere, I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you_

Crowley closed his eyes. _I gave myself to you, and you gave me away, over and over again._ He wondered if it was time to let go.

_And I am feeling so small  
It was over my head  
I know nothing at all_

_And I will stumble and fall  
I'm still learning to love  
Just starting to crawl_

Crowley wasn’t necessarily _ready_ to give up, but he didn’t feel like he could keep going like this. Every day had been worse than the last. He was in a downward spiral, and he knew it.

_Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you  
Anywhere, I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you_

Crowley closed his eyes, unable to see through the mist of hot tears in his eyes. _This is it. This is the moment_ , he thought. _I have to accept it._

_And I will swallow my pride  
You're the one that I love  
And I'm saying goodbye_

Crowley paused, his hands rushing to cover a sound that was half a bark of laughter and half a keen of sorrow as it erupted from his throat. He sat for a moment, elbows on the piano keys, hands tightly clamped around his mouth, shoulders shaking.

He didn’t care who was looking. He didn’t care about vulnerability. He didn’t care about anything. Well, that was a lie. He cared about _everything_ , and entirely too much, he reminded himself once again. Caring about things was what got him into this mess to begin with.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared about anyone else before. He had, though it was rare. Even more so after losing Warlock. Crowley had always been a bit standoffish when it came to others, but after Harriet and Thad took Warlock to the states without so much as a goodbye, Crowley had stopped allowing himself to be too attached to _anyone_.

Until he met Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale was gone, too, and this time, he had absolutely _no idea_ where or why, or if he was even alive _wherever_ he was.

Crowley continued to sing, though it was more of a broken, watery whisper _._

_Say something…_

Louis came up behind Crowley, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Show’s over, Crowley. It’s time to go.”

Crowley’s head whipped up. “I haven’t had a drop, I _swear_.”

“I know,” Louis said gently.

“I wouldn’t,” Crowley continued, face blotchy and wet. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said, sounding very lost and small.

“Shhh, hush now,” Louis soothed. “That’s enough of that. You aren’t in any sort of trouble. You’re simply done for the evening. It’s a slow night. Go have a lie down. I’ll have something sent to your room if you’d like. I get the feeling you could use a drink or two. Perhaps a nibble?” He rubbed Crowley’s shoulders reassuringly.

Crowley nodded, getting up from the bench slowly, wiping his eyes on his sleeve before turning around. He was quite glad he had decided on a bare face, only throwing his sunglasses on at the last minute to hide the puffiness of his eyes, before stepping into the lounge to play.

Crowley stumbled over to his plant shelves, the bottle of Talisker Louis had sent over two-thirds empty in his hand.

“Every last one of you lot is a bloody _reminder_ ,” he yelled at his plants. “You’re all just taking up ssspace and time.” He took a drink straight from the bottle before he continued his verbal barrage against the flora. “Bloody _worthlesss_ , is what you are,” he sneered disgustedly at the shelf. “Just another thing _he_ left behind. You’re jussst, you’re just like…” His face shifted from anger to grief. “Oh, fuck, you’re just like _me_ , aren’t you? You didn’t choose _any_ of that.” He picked up the strawberry pot, holding it to his chest lovingly as a tear hit one of the leaves. “None of this was your fault, was it,” He soothed, rocking the pot plant with one arm, taking a drink from his bottle from the other. “All you ever did was what you were ‘sssposed to do. You were just trying to be yourself.”

Before he could stop it, the plant fell from his arms.

“Oh, fuck,” he screeched, throwing himself down to try to scoop up dirt and broken bits with his hands. He was crying so hard he could barely see the dirt running through his fingers. Eventually, he gave up trying to salvage the plant. Lying in the floor next to shattered bits of pottery, dirt, and strawberries wet from spilled whiskey, he pulled his phone from his pocket, somehow navigating the menu through muscle memory. He waited for the beep to begin speaking.

“I’m ssso sorry, Angel,” He slurred into the phone. “It’s all broken and in the floor, but I can’t… I can’t fix it. It’s us, you know? You ‘n me. I don’t know where you are, though. But me, I’m… I’m this pile of dirt and sharp things in the floor, that’s what I am. I broke it. You weren’t here to catch it. When it… When it fell. I don’t know how to put it back together by myssself, Asszziraphale. The angel Azzziraphale Fell. But _you_ didn’t fall,” he hissed into the phone. “Nope, that was _me_. Me and the strawberries. The fucking _strawberries_ , you fucking bassstard,” he said, scowling while he crushed individual berries under his fist against the floor. “You sssent me strawberriesss and _left_ me. Are you ssstill fucking wearing my ring? Answer me!” There was a beat of silence. “Oh, right. This is your voissscemail because you won’t _fucking_ talk to me!”

He ended the call, turning to lie on his back, covered in dirt, smashed strawberries, and whiskey, staring at the ceiling. After a few hours of lying in the floor unable to sleep, he had calmed down and sobered up some. He picked his phone back up and began to type a series of texts. After he was done, he put his phone down, went to his medicine cabinet, then went to bed. He didn’t even bother with a shower or change of clothes first.

He just wanted to sleep.

Aziraphale had just returned home from the most recent leg of the Armageddon tour. The very first thing he did after closing the door behind him, was rush over to his desk to check the phone he had left behind. He couldn’t risk bringing it with him on the tour, not with all of the photos of Crowley, the messages, and more contained within it. He thought about wiping it before the trip, but the thought drove a nail through his heart. So, he had left it behind, since he needed an internationally-equipped phone instead. The lack of service in some regions they would visit was a good enough excuse for Gabe. No reason to explain further, really. All Gabe cared about was having Aziraphale at his beck and call, and he had that with the company-provided phone line.

Even though he didn’t have access to the texts, he knew he could still check his voicemail while he was away. But with Gabe hovering over him constantly, there hadn’t been an opportunity where he felt safe enough to do so. It was different now that he was in his own flat with a locked door between himself and the rest of the world. It was the first time he had felt comfortable enough to actually listen to any voicemails without Gabe right next to him.

Aziraphale unlocked his phone to see 247 notifications waiting for him. He was surprised to see some were from Raphael.

> **What happened?**
> 
> **Why are you ignoring  
>  Crowley?  
> Linda told me he said  
> you two were starting  
> to work things out,  
> but then you ghosted.**
> 
> **Why are you doing this  
>  to him?**
> 
> **Talk to me, Zach.**
> 
> **Shit. Just talk to me.**
> 
> **Oh, are you ignoring  
>  me, too?**
> 
> **I’d say this isn’t like  
>  you, but you’ve changed  
> so much. I don’t even  
> know who you  
> are anymore.**
> 
> **He deserves better than  
>  this.**
> 
> **What happened to you?**

Confused by Raphael’s messages, he made his way to Crowley’s message thread. He realized with growing horror that the text he had composed to send to Crowley before he left almost seven weeks prior still sat in the text box, having failed to be sent.

> **Plans changed. My  
>  flight is earlier than  
>  I thought. We’re  
>  leaving right now.   
>  I'm going to be away  
>  for a while, I’m   
>  afraid. Probably for   
>  at least a few weeks.  
>  I won't have access  
>  to this phone until  
>  I return. I will fix  
>  things for us both.  
>  I have a plan, but it  
>  will take time. I had   
>  intended to discuss  
>  this with you today  
>  but there’s no time.   
>  I owe you an  
>  explanation, and an  
>  apology. You’ll have  
>  both when I return  
>  to you. I can hardly  
>  wait to see you again.   
>  Miss you already,  
>  my heart.  
>  I love you so much.  
>  ** **💞😘🥰😍💞** **_  
>  MESSAGE FAILED  
>  RESEND?_**

“Oh, my God,” Aziraphale said, sitting heavily in the chair at his desk to scroll through all of the messages on his phone with his left hand. They started out nice enough, at first.

> **Is this our first  
>  official date?😘**
> 
> **I mean since  
>  before **
> 
> **Don’t want to  
>  jinx anything but  
> I’m so glad u  
> said yes** **🥰**  
>  **I’m here**

There was a gradual progression to messages of concern, then worry, then anger.

> **U r late**
> 
> **Where r u?**
> 
> **R u ok?**
> 
> **U aren’t coming  
>  are u**
> 
> **Why do I keep  
>  believing u?**

And that was just the day Aziraphale left. He scrolled through the dozens of messages spanning the weeks after that.

> **Angel where r u?**
> 
> **I miss u**
> 
> **Please talk to me**
> 
> **What have I done?**
> 
> **I** ❤️ **u**
> 
> **I love you**
> 
> **Im worried about u**
> 
> **Please Aziraphale**
> 
> **I need u to talk  
>  to me**
> 
> **Please**

After the first hundred messages, Aziraphale was scrolling with one hand while the other was clamped tightly over his mouth as he watched his entire world fall apart via text.

> **Newt says you quit the  
>  diner???????**
> 
> **What the fuck  
>  Aziraphale**
> 
> **Tracy says you haven’t  
>  been home in a few  
> weeks**
> 
> **What the fuck is going  
>  on**
> 
> **Did you just fucking  
>  leave without even  
> saying a goddamn  
> thing to me????**

Aziraphale shook his head, as if he could somehow go back in time to answer the message from two weeks ago.

> **Aziraphale where in  
>  the world are you  
> you idiot? **
> 
> **I can't find you**
> 
> **For fuck's sake  
>  where are you?!**
> 
> **You've gone**
> 
> **Bastard**

His heart sank, fractured in his chest, as he read the end of the thread.

> **Say something**
> 
> **SAY SOMETHING**
> 
> **I give up**
> 
> **Nice knowing u**
> 
> **I can’t do this anymore**
> 
> **Goodbye**

The last text from Crowley was from ten days ago.

There were a few voicemails waiting for him. Mostly, they were just Crowley asking, with increasing desperation, for Aziraphale to call him back. The last voicemail, however, was much longer. Aziraphale felt sick as he listened to it, having to stop part-way through the first time he listened to put the phone down and press his hand against his eyes hard enough to see flashes of color behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t get Crowley’s messages, both voice and text, out of his mind. Unable to sleep, he kept playing them over and over again for hours, filing them in as many places as his memory would allow to keep himself from forgetting the sound of Crowley’s voice, no matter how much it hurt. Aziraphale read and re-read the texts, saving screenshots of them all and emailing them to his private email so he had copies, stopping to read each one all over again every step of the way.

He missed Crowley with every fiber of his being, and if all he had available hurt, he’d cherish it regardless.

“It wasn’t supposed to _be_ like this,” Aziraphale spoke to the framed picture of Crowley on his desk, tracing his fingertips lovingly along the image. “I thought Gabe would have gone back to the states, and you and I would have all of London to ourselves, save for once or twice every few years for a holiday here and there.”

He held the photo to his chest, closing his eyes against the mid-morning sun as it filtered across the room.

Aziraphale tried to call Crowley, but there was no answer. The second time he tried, it rang once, then went straight to voicemail.

Aziraphale sat there, staring dumbly at the phone even as the screen went black. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sitting there with his phone in his hand, but it didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, his time was up.

It had already happened, hadn’t it? It had happened at least ten days before he even got back to London. Crowley thought he was gone. It was understandable that he’d give up by now. For all intents and purposes, it probably looked to Crowley that Aziraphale had already given up on _him_ long before. No, there was no _probably_ to it. Aziraphale had read the texts. That was a _definite_. Aziraphale never meant for this to be the end, but it appeared that’s exactly what had happened.

It was a mercy, wasn’t it? It hurt now, but the hurt had already happened. Wasn’t this easier in the long run? And not just for Crowley, but for him, too. The more interactions they had, the more likely the whole thing began all over again. Perhaps, this was the best, most humane way to handle it. He could just leave it as it was and finally stop hurting Crowley.

And yet…

Aziraphale’s heart worked his feet while his head distracted the rest of him. Before he even realized he had done so, Aziraphale found he had walked to Covent Garden once again. Hearing the sound of Crowley’s voice in the distance, his heart near fluttered out of his chest. Aziraphale leaned against the nearest wall to calm the nervous wringing of his hands, the same hands that trembled with the visceral need to reach out to Crowley, to touch him, pull him close, and never let him go.

Staying as hidden as one could out in public, Aziraphale approached closer. He didn’t want Crowley to see him. There was no need for Crowley to be made to feel worse than he already did, and no reason to drag things out further for him. No, Aziraphale had learned from those mistakes that he made early-on regarding how it might tear at Crowley to see him.

His mind told him to leave, but his heart worked with his traitorous mouth to betray him.

“Erm, excuse me, m-miss?”

“Yes, sir?” The young woman replied cautiously.

“I do hate to be a bother, but I was wondering if you could possibly help me. You see that man over there?” He stayed ducked back behind the foliage, but indicated to where Crowley was playing.

She nodded, still unsure of what was happening.

“Would you be at all inclined to request a song for me?”

He placed the money in her hand and told her the song he longed to hear. He watched as she walked up to Crowley and held the money out. His shoulders slumped as Crowley shook his head and put his hand up, refusing the money.

The woman came back around the corner, offering the money back to Aziraphale. “Are you the angel?”

Aziraphale stiffened slightly with a sharp intake of breath. He nodded quickly.

“He said for me to give the money back to the angel, and to tell you he won’t _ever_ let you pay him to play that song.”

“Oh,” he smiled, trying his best to hold it together.

She offered the money to Aziraphale again.

“Keep it,” he sniffed. “Thank you for try—”

Aziraphale's voice failed him as he heard the first notes begin to play.

_Saying I love you  
Is not the words I want to hear from you  
It's not that I want you  
Not to say, but if you only knew  
How easy it would be to show me how you feel  
More than words is all you have to do to make it real  
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me  
'Cause I'd already know_

Like a man in a trance, Aziraphale stepped out into the sparse crowd that was forming. There was no use hiding, regardless. Crowley already knew he was there.

_What would you do if my heart was torn in two  
More than words to show you feel  
That your love for me is real  
What would you say if I took those words away  
Then you couldn't make things new  
Just by saying I love you_

Aziraphale closed his eyes, remembering so many other times, happier times, that he had heard Crowley play this song for him. For a brief moment, the length of a lyric, it was almost as if he could feel the warmth of Crowley’s skin under his fingertips again.

When Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crowley was staring directly at him. Their eyes locked as Crowley continued to sing.

_Just reach out your hands  
And touch me  
Hold me close  
Don't ever let me go  
More than words is all I ever needed you to show  
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me  
'Cause I'd already know_

Head tilted to the side in that sad dog way Aziraphale found so adorable, Crowley let out a shuddering sigh, pressing his lips together hard enough to reveal a dimple. His eyes never left Aziraphale’s as he began his next song.

_I'm goin' out on the town  
Said I'm tired of  
Chasin' you down  
And it's not my right  
To always push you around  
I'm on my own side now_

Eyes that had once looked up at Aziraphale in adoration and ecstasy now were harder. Gold, once warm, now hurt, angry, and wet as the music played on.

_Who's gonna take me home?  
'Couse I don't wanna go it alone  
Who's gonna want me when  
I'm just somewhere you've been  
Who's gonna want me now?  
And who's gonna take me home?_

Aziraphale could take a hint. Maybe it really _was_ for the best. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Well, it wasn’t at all what he wanted. But this was what had to happen. _It would be easier on Crowley, in the long run_ , he thought. _If this is what he needs to get past it, this is what I’ll give him._

_I'm gonna find me a true love  
Said I'm through asking you if you knew, love  
How much it meant to me  
How it was meant to be  
And how it all feels empty_

Aziraphale stood, unable to move, as he continued to listen to the message Crowley was sending through his song. As soon as Aziraphale felt he could lift his foot to take a step without falling, he took one last longing look at Crowley. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed silently before he turned around to leave. He held to himself, clutching to his coat tightly in spite of the summer sun as he navigated the crowd of bodies that had fallen in around him to listen. Crowley sang the last lines right as Aziraphale rounded the corner out of sight, finally allowing himself to come apart after keeping it together for so long.

_I’m on my own side now,  
Own side now._

The sound of his phone ringing woke Aziraphale up in the middle of the night. Blinding himself by the light as he unlocked the screen, Aziraphale couldn’t focus his eyes enough to read the caller ID on his phone.

He fumbled with the screen trying to answer. “Hello?” He mumbled sleepily to whatever agent of chaos was calling him at what he couldn’t determine was 3am.

“You’ve ruined me,” a familiar voice spat out bitterly into his ear.

“Crowley?” He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“If you had just left me behind that dumpster, I never would… I… I never would have _known_.”

“I’m so tired I don’t even know what time it is to argue with you about what time it is to be calling me. What are you on about?” He was still struggling to wake up enough to understand what was being said to him.

“You showed it to me and took it away. I’ll never have that again. Tried. Can’t.”

“You’re drunk.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Drunk? Me? ‘Course I am,” he laughed bitterly. “How else ‘m I supposed to fuck? You’re the only one that I want to fuck when I… When ‘m sober. But y-you don’t want me anymore. Sssaid you didn’t love me, not… Not the way I love you. I remember. For the record, I think that’s a great pussstulent mangled bollocks of a great blasted lie, but ‘dun matter now, does it? You left. You _keep leaving me_.” Crowley paused long enough to take a ragged breath. “You’ve _ruined_ me. All I was going to do was find someone to fuck so I could forget you. That’s what people _do_ , isn’t it? Maybe make a little—”

This was too much. Aziraphale didn’t think he was strong enough to handle listening to the details of Crowley having an encounter with anyone who wasn’t _him_. “If you’ve called to brag about your carnal conquest—"

“He… He…” Crowley interrupted as his breath stuttered. “He wasn’t _anything_ like you, Angel. You’re _so gentle_. You don’t even _know_.” He inhaled sharply. “Oh, Angel, why did you have to show me it didn’t _have_ to **_hurt so fucking much_**?” Faint, erratic breathing sounds and a quiet sniff came through the phone.

Aziraphale’s voice softened. “Are you all right? Are you safe? Where are you? Do you need help? I’ll come to you.” As much as it hurt to hear, Aziraphale still loved Crowley with everything he had, and now he was concerned Crowley might be in danger. ”Or if you don’t want to see me, I can send someone else. Just… Just tell me where to find you. Please, tell me that you’re okay.”

“Oh, I am mossst decidedly _not_ okay,” Crowley slurred. “I am ssso far from _okay_ that the light from _okay_ will have to travel m-millions of years before it ever reaches me, and by then it will be too late… Y-yeah, be-because all the _okay_ will have… Burned out long before that.” His voice rose in pitch as he continued. “It’s gone. It’s all gone. I’m…” He sighed heavily. “I have to go, Angel. I can’t do this. ‘S too much. Too much. Nice talking to you. Don’t call me again. Love you. Bye. Shit. No, I don’t.” His breath hitched with a high-pitched gasp. “Yes, I do. I didn’t mean that, I _swear_. I do, I love you _so much_. _Fuck_.” He let out a shaking whimper, followed by a sniffle. “Just… Delete this message when you get it. Love you. Bye. **_FU_** —"

The phone flashed the Call Ended screen in Aziraphale’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Saturday.


	27. Lost Are We, And Are Only So Far Punished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes opened to the past, secrets can change the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a LOT of information and action going on in this chapter, and it was already past 8k without everything there, so I decided to split it up. Rather than posting the first half on Saturday and making you wait for the rest, I'll just give you the first half NOW and you'll still get the rest on Saturday as the original plan had been.
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> [Scott Grimes - What Love Is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TT5i72zc_GQ)
> 
> Chapter title from Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Crowley vaguely remembered talking to Aziraphale and throwing his phone the night before as he glanced at the seven missed call notifications from him through the fresh crack across the phone screen.

“At least I made enough last night to replace it,” he said out loud to the empty room. He made more last night than he usually made in a fortnight, but it had taken a toll on him. He staggered over to the bathroom for a paracetamol and a glass of water, flinching as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The victory rolls that had once been curled and pinned carefully now lay limp and man-handled. The eyeliner and mascara were smeared and tear-streaked across his face, along with the dark red lipstick on one side of his mouth, spreading out in a thumb track across his cheek. He looked down at his own near-spotless hands, then over at the bed to find the pillow strangely clean. _Must’ve happened upstairs_ , he thought.

Digging through the hamper Louis had sent to his room last night while he was working, he pulled out a packet of mentholated bath salts. He filled the tub, emptying the packet underneath the running tap, and gingerly lowered his sore, aching body into the hot water.

Crowley dried his hand off on a towel to pick up his phone when he heard his text chime.

> **You certainly made  
>  an impression.  
> He wants you again  
> next week.  
> He liked your hair.  
> Shall I set you on  
> the schedule?**
> 
> **No**
> 
> **You don’t mean that.  
>  He said you were  
> quite enthusiastic.**

“That wasn’t _enthusiasm_ ,” Crowley growled, staring at the screen.

> **No thank u  
> ** **I’d rather not do  
> ** **that again**
> 
> **You’re off tomorrow  
>  night. I want you to  
> come to a party  
> I’m throwing, just a  
> few people.  
> Come by my office.**
> 
> **I’m not changing  
>  my answer**
> 
> **That’s not what this  
>  is about. I have  
> another gift for you.  
> We’ll talk.**
> 
> **I’ll come by to  
>  collect my pay  
> ** **but that’s it**
> 
> **We’ll talk.**

Crowley put the phone down and leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes. He sighed loudly, opening his eyes again to look around. He reached first to lower the telescoping shaving mirror down low enough for him to see, then for the leather zippered case on the counter to remove his straight razor. Pulling curl by curl between his fingers, he slid the razor across the strands of his hair, one lock of hair at a time, dropping each shorn length into the bin next to the toilet.

Aziraphale walked inside Michael and Uriel's flat, coat buttoned and loose around him. "I really appreciate you two keeping up with my car while I was gone," Aziraphale said, moving towards the couch to sit down. He had already called Michael, upset about not being able to get a hold of Crowley the night before, and it was decided he'd tell her the rest in person when he came to retrieve his car.

“Why are you wearing a coat in July, Aziraphale?" Michael asked, eyeing him warily. "Wouldn’t you be more comfortable taking it off?”

“I’d rather leave it on, thank you.”

“Aziraphale, it’s 25 degrees outside. Take off your coat.”

Aziraphale eyed her warily, but complied. Wincing as he pulled his coat off of his right arm, he hung it on the hook with his left hand. He hitched his sagging pants up as Michael and Uriel stared at him.

“Oh my God, Aziraphale! What’s happened to you?” Uriel asked with alarm, dropping the keys she was trying to hand to him.

“Almost two months in close quarters with Gabe,” Michael replied with an exhale of disgust.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly.

“You don’t look like yourself,” Uriel continued.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aziraphale reassured, eyes sunken above the dark half-moons below them. “I’m just upset about last night. I still don’t know if Crowley is all right or not. He won’t answer my calls.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Uriel asked.

Aziraphale simply shrugged one shoulder and avoided eye contact.

“That’s _not_ all of it, Aziraphale,” Michael said. “I saw your face when you took off your coat. Pull up your sleeves. Show me your arms.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale replied. “Not anymore.” He went to grab his coat. “This was a mistake. I’ll go.”

“You won’t,” Michael said, placing a hand on his back to guide him towards the couch. She couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched when she reached for him. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Aziraphale?” She whispered gently.

Aziraphale was so tired. He didn’t have it in him to keep arguing right now. He was too worried about Crowley and everything else. Wet eyes and a quivering chin turned up towards Michael. “I _thought_ I knew. I had a _plan_. But it all fell apart.”

“What has happened to your hair?” Louis remarked, a look of disappointment on his face.

“I cut it,” Crowley said flatly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he prepared for his set.

“You were serious, then,” Louis pouted. “You could still make quite a bit, though not as much until it grows back out. Unless you’d be willing to get extensions. I’d cover all costs, of course. You know I take good care of my _entertainers_.” Jewel-toned eyes cut up and down Crowley as he tilted his head to the side. “You could still work with this look, though. I could shuffle some things around. I might have just the client for you, now that I think about it. He pays quite well, actually. Unless of course you’d be willing to make an effort in a _different_ book of clients. I think I might have a few ladies of affluence who might like to take you apart and put you back together again. You’d barely need to do _anything_ but show up.”

Crowley turned an expressionless face towards Louis.

“Pity,” Louis said with a shrug. “You would have had a _very_ nice bit set aside after only a few clients.”

As much as Crowley hated to admit it, it was true that Louis provided anything and everything his assets needed. His entertainers, whether they performed in the lounge or upstairs, had free room and board. All of his employees, front end and back, could order anything from the menu in the lounge except alcohol, unless you worked upstairs or were named Anthony J. Crowley. The field agents even had a petrol allowance and could put in for additional mileage if needed.

Working upstairs meant you also got paid your cut of your price, and it was a higher percentage than average for that line of work. Louis provided a wardrobe selection, in-house stylists, and all the liquor a person could drink, so long as they encouraged the client to keep their own bar tab running. He offered his entertainers safety, with enforcers positioned in the hallways, ready to react in the event they heard the safe word or saw the silent alarm bulb meant to call them into the room flashing above the door. There was even a doctor that would come around every month to run exams and submit lab work to ensure everyone was clean and healthy. If you were going to work for a ponce, Louis was top tier.

Another point in his favor was that, while he could certainly be persuasive and tempting, he never made anyone do anything against their own will. Once he established they truly didn’t want to do whatever it was, the matter would be dropped and he moved on to the next point of business. Now, that didn’t mean it couldn’t come up again later for renegotiation. Louis had a bit of a knack for knowing when someone was more susceptible to giving in to temptation, almost as if he could look inside of someone’s soul to find their hidden desires and sins, but the only expectation he ever came to the discussion with was that the person would _consider_ what he was asking of them. 

You didn’t want to get on Louis’s bad side, though. It was _very_ difficult to do so, but in the event that it happened, Louis had no qualms over sending an enforcer to handle it. This usually had more to do with the consequence of choice, be it aggressive clients or rogue field agents. He never sent anyone after his entertainers, and he seemed to have an unusually soft spot when it came to Crowley. Regardless, Crowley didn’t want to press his luck too far, all things considered. He still didn’t know for sure what had happened to Carl, only that he had never seen him again after Louis set his top two enforcers on him.

It had been a moment of weakness after Aziraphale’s song request that had broken Crowley into finally agreeing to Louis’s repeated Third Circle renegotiation requests. He thought maybe that it might have helped him to move on, or at least maybe stop him from holding out hope. At least in the Third Circle he didn’t have that awkward exchange of false pleasantries or genuine concerns after. There was no exchange of numbers, no awkward moments where you asked what it meant, or reason for him to feel used. Well, he _was_ used, but it wasn’t completely one-sided, at least. He was providing a service and being paid for it. It was a business transaction. Crowley knew there was no love, comfort or emotion involved. But mostly, there was a _security_ to the whole thing that wouldn’t have been afforded by just randomly going to a club or pub to pick up a stranger. Unfortunately, Crowley probably wouldn’t have used the safe word or alarm to call Mr. Gur in for anything less than actual aggressive violence. It never really occurred to him that rough sex could be considered an act of violence, too, if he had consented to sex in the first place. Not that this was intentionally violent, of course. It had simply been a lack of consideration on the part of the client. Crowley made a mental note to make sure he filled that box in on the client survey later.

Rough as it had been, it was everything Crowley remembered about what sex had always been like with past partners, if you could call them that. There hadn’t been much interaction between them other than them sticking their dick somewhere in him once or twice and being done. Sometimes they were angry to discover he had a cock, too. Not that he ever attempted to _hide_ that. Sex with those that stayed to finish the job after that discovery had often been like a punishment for not being what they expected. Other times, the men he went to bed with were _excited_ by it, asking him to put on _more_ makeup to help them get hard, sometimes even pleasuring themselves while they watched him apply it. At least those times were shorter, when they eventually took what they wanted. It never seemed to be about _him_ , though. Only what he _represented_ to the person fucking him.

As far as Crowley had been concerned, that’s how it always _was_ with anyone that _wasn’t_ Aziraphale. With Aziraphale, it had always been about making sure he felt good, felt safe, comfortable. He never felt used, abused, or fetishized. Well, except for that one time, after everything had happened, back at Aziraphale’s flat when Gabe knocked on the door directly after. He did enjoy fucking shit up with Aziraphale’s books after that. And even then, he only felt used when Aziraphale had come back in to tell him he had to leave.

If he were being honest with himself, he might have included the time he had come apart in the car after finding out Aziraphale hadn’t been home in weeks. It hurt so much to think Aziraphale’s love had been a lie. Oh, but what a _convincing_ lie it was, too, to be loved by the angel. Part of Crowley still didn’t believe he didn’t love him, but Aziraphale had _said_ it, that he was like the others. More than that, he didn’t _just_ say it. There were _actions_ , too. Actions like quitting a job and leaving for _weeks_ without telling Crowley _any_ of it. It was difficult to shake that thought.

Prior to that night when Gabe showed up, Aziraphale made him feel beautiful, loved, and safe, just like every other time he had been with his angel. While it’s true he didn’t actually expect sex with someone else to feel like _that_ , his time with Aziraphale had lulled him into a false sense of security. He forgot that he hadn’t had that before, someone who would take the time to make sure he was all right. Crowley’s experience with someone other than Aziraphale the night before led him to believe maybe he’d never have that again.

On his first break during his set after seeing Aziraphale the afternoon before, he broke down and asked Louis to book a client appointment for him. By the time Crowley had finished his set in the lounge, Louis already had a client lined up for him that very night.

When Crowley got to his room, a hairdresser, a manicurist, and a beautician were waiting for him by his door along with a gift hamper of toiletries and care items, and an assortment of garments for him to try on. They stripped him down, scrubbed him from head to toe, and made him feel relaxed, pliant, and pretty. All that pampering had done wonders for his mood by the time he entered the room upstairs. At least, until the client showed up.

And so, he drank.

And so did the client.

And he’d really rather not think about that anymore.

Crowley was sitting at the table nearest to the piano, still going over his set list, when Michael walked in and sat down across from him.

“Michael?” Crowley jumped slightly upon realizing who had sat down in front of him. “That’s, uh, unlikely.”

“Yes,” Michael smiled.

Crowley turned his eyes back down to his set list, tracing his finger along the rim of his half-empty glass. "I'm at work right now. What do you want?"

“I may be out of line here, but I’m following up on Aziraphale’s… Um, how do I put this delicately?” She sighed, shaking her head. “He told what me happened last night.”

Crowley cut his eyes in her direction without lifting his head. “And what, pray tell, _exactly_ did he have to say?”

“He’s worried about you,” she continued.

“He has a funny way of showing it,” Crowley muttered, looking back at his drink.

“I thought you couldn’t drink,” she said gently.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Seems simple enough to do,” he shrugged as he picked up the glass to take a sip, finally looking her in the eyes while doing so.

She gave him a sad, pitying look.

“Don’t,” he said, pointing at her. “You _both_ get that look, and I can’t handle it right now. I want neither your pity nor your reminder of…” He shook his head and brought his glass to his lips, draining it and signaling towards the bar for another.

“Fair enough,” she said. “But there are some things you might not understand at play here.”

“Such as?”

“I’m sure Aziraphale has told you about our step-brother, Gabe.”

“Yes,” Crowley replied, sitting upright and tilting his head to look at her. “As a matter of fact, Aziraphale _has_ mentioned him,” Crowley said with a sneer. “I’m guessing Gabe threw some sort of fit at Christmas. Aziraphale slipped and said something about maybe trying to talk to him the day after…” He grimaced, snorting in derision. “Well, I don’t know why it matters, but apparently, Gabe’s opinion matters more than _I_ do.”

Her smile was pinched and strained as she pulled a stack of photo print-outs from her purse and spread them out on the table.

Crowley picked up the first one, a close up of his hair pin bent around some sort of fabric. “That’s my…” His voice trailed off. He slowly covered his mouth with his hand as he picked up a second photo, a picture of Gabe and Sandy laughing while looking at one another. “That’s _them_ ,” he whispered. “How did you get this? I never told anyone what they looked like.”

She nudged the third photo towards him. There were five people in the photo standing together. An older man and woman were smiling brightly on either end of the group. Gabe was front and center, smiling at the camera between Michael, who looked sad, and Aziraphale, who, red-eyed, looked miserable and sick. “That’s Gabe,” she said gently, pointing to him. “Sandy,” she nodded to the previous photo he saw, “Took this picture of all of us at Christmas.”

Crowley didn’t look away from the photo when a fresh drink was placed in front of him. The waiter looked towards Michael. She shook her head slightly, waving her hand to politely decline. She watched as Crowley’s jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a tight line.

She placed her hand on his, squeezing gently as she spoke as tenderly as she could. “They were going to kill you, Crowley. They told Aziraphale all about it. Gabe told him about taking your hair pin, and Sandy told him that the plan had been to dump your body in the pond behind the diner, but he didn’t get that far and left you by the dumpster instead."

He took a deep breath through his nose, keeping his mouth tightly closed.

“And then Gabe said that if he ever saw _you_ near Aziraphale, he and Sandy would finish what they started. That was just before we were asked to pose for this picture.”

Crowley closed his eyes tightly as a tear fell down his cheek. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Aziraphale thought it would be easier for you, if you hated _him_ instead of knowing what almost happened to you, what could _still_ happen to you, if you had stayed and Gabe or Sandy showed up.” 

Crowley’s mind immediately pulled up the first night he and Aziraphale had slept together after the breakup. He remembered the panic in Aziraphale’s voice when he told Crowley that Gabe and Sandy were there, to wait a quarter hour and then leave so they wouldn’t know he had been there. At the time, Crowley had been hurt and offended, thinking Aziraphale was embarrassed to be seen with him, or ashamed. Seeing it from a different light, however…

“And when he got back from the book tour a couple of days ago, he saw that the text he sent you before he left, explaining things, had failed to send.”

Crowley’s head jerked back up to look directly at her.

“He couldn’t bring his phone with him on the trip,” Michael continued, “But he _did_ try to let you know. He didn’t _mean_ to leave you like this. He really _did_ try. Aziraphale told me he asked to see you, and that you and he were to have lunch that day. He had intended to tell you all of this before he left, but there was an error with the information he was given. The flight was that morning instead of evening. He tried to let you know all of that.” Michael’s eye started to water almost imperceptibly, though Crowley happened to notice as a tiny glint of light danced along her lower eyelid. “Thinking that you were waiting for him, that the two of you could start over when he returned, is what kept him going through all the—” She caught herself, smiling to cover as she quickly changed her next words. “The time spent away from you. He thought about you, coming home to you, constantly, Crowley.”

Crowley went pale as his eyebrows lifted. He looked as if he were about to be sick. “He did?”

Michael nodded. “When he found out you had never gotten it, and had already been hurting _so much_ , he decided it was for the best to leave you in peace. He doesn’t want to keep hurting you. He thinks all he does is bring you misery. But I don’t think that’s true, and I _definitely_ don’t think it’s his responsibility to protect you from the knowledge of what Gabe and Sandy tried to do to you.” Michael continued, breaking Crowley from his own thoughts. “I think you deserve to know the truth, and that you would _want_ to know rather than letting Aziraphale carry that.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. “It’s not his burden.”

“But in some ways, it is,” she said. “Aziraphale is a direct connection between you and Gabe. But there’s another reason,” the corner of Michael’s lip twitched gently, “Though it’s not my story to tell. Suffice it to say, he is _personally_ affected by all of it.”

Crowley looked up at her, trying to keep his gaze from falling back to the photos.

“I need to go soon,” she said. “But I _do_ hope you’ll be able to work something out.” She put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “You made him so happy.”

After his set was over, Crowley curled up in his bed, unable to sleep. He stared at the medicine cabinet, simultaneously daring himself to go browse the contents of the cabinet or to stay in bed and try to sleep without any help.

A third thought won out. Crowley scrolled through his contacts, finding the one he _needed_ , and hit the call icon. There was no answer. He called again, getting the voicemail after one ring, the tell-tale sign of a call ignored.

“Why am I not surprised?” He sighed, opening up the messaging app.

> **How am I supposed  
>  to return your call  
>  if you won’t answer  
>  your phone?**

Crowley tried to call again. This time, the call connected.

Crowley waited for a greeting that never came. After almost an entire minute, he began to speak. “Right,” he sniffed quickly. “So, um, Michael came by tonight.”

There was a quickening of breath, but otherwise silence on the other end of the line.

“She… uh… She showed me a picture, from Christmas.”

There was a pause, followed by a weary sigh. “She shouldn’t have done that,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m glad she did, Angel.”

“Don’t call me that,” Aziraphale said angrily, though there was no heat to it.

Crowley sighed with a whimper. “Can we talk?”

“I’ve said all I have to say.”

“You know that’s not true. I _know_ the truth, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley, it's too dangerous.”

“Not this again,” Crowley groaned quietly. “You told me what you think seven months ago.”

“And I haven't changed my mind.”

“Ang—” Crowley sighed as he caught himself. “Aziraphale…” His voice trailed off.

“It’s one thing to keep something to ourselves to avoid a confrontation. It’s quite another to have to hide so they don’t destroy you," Aziraphale said quietly. "I won’t be part of that.”

“I'm not exactly subtle on the eyes, Aziraphale," Crowley laughed mirthlessly. "You should have thought about that when you met me.”

“I met you _because_ they hurt you!” Aziraphale replied aggressively.

“But you still fell in love, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was low and soothing, with a hint of fear of rejection. “We both did.”

“You’re…” Aziraphale sighed. “You’re confusing sympathy with love.”

“You just keep telling yourself that," Crowley replied with slight irritation. "Maybe eventually one of us will actually _believe_ it.”

Aziraphale’s voice wavered between irritation and fear. “If Gabe knew we had been… _Fraternizing_ —”

“ _Fraternizing_?”

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.”

“Wha—” Crowley, usually not one for too many words, had been amassing an arsenal of argumentation. He had been talking so much with others about all of this over the past seven months that he now had words enough for a veritable _elocution squad_ to aim straight for Aziraphale. He had rehashed conversation after conversation with the angel, including some that had _actually_ happened, in his mind, fine-tuning what he should have said, wished he had said, and regretted saying.

There was no holding back now. “I wish to call you my _husband_ again, Aziraphale! I’ve been driving myself to distraction trying to figure this out, but I _know_ now. You sent me myrtle along with strawberries. You’re _far_ too clever for that to have been an accident. You may not realize that _I_ know what that means, but I know _you_ do.”

“That’s not what it me—”

“ _Yes_ , it _is_.” Crowley hissed. “You’ve been wearing my ring this whole time, for fuck’s sake. I bet it’s on your hand right this very second. You _knew_ what it meant when I gave it to you. I _know_ it means as much to _you_ as it does to _me_.” Crowley laughed bitterly. “You even had me put it on you.”

There was silence on the line, though Crowley thought he could hear the sound of swallowing and a quiet sniffle. Crowley’s voice grew much softer, gentle remorse steeped in tenderness tinged with uncertainty as he spoke. “Oh, my Aziraphale, my beautiful, stubborn angel. You loved me then. I _know_ you did. And I think you _still_ do. Love me, that is. I, uh, I _never_ stopped loving you, not even when I...” Crowley closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, thinking about the night before. “N-not even _then_. We can get _through_ this, Angel, if you just—"

“You can believe and do _whatever_ you want, but leave me out of it.” Aziraphale struggled to maintain composure over the phone as he squeezed his fist in his own hair. “I meant what I said, Crowley.” Aziraphale ended the call without waiting for a response. He immediately began to compose a text.

> **How fucking dare  
>  you!!! I trusted  
>  you!!!!!!!!  
>  This is hard enough. **
> 
> **He loves you,  
>  Aziraphale.**
> 
> **You had no right!**
> 
> **HE LOVES YOU.**
> 
> **Stop it.**
> 
> **And you love him.**
> 
> **We’re done here.**
> 
> **You’re not serious.  
>   
>  This is important.  
> I just want you to  
> be happy. He  
> makes you happier  
> than I’ve seen you  
> in decades. **
> 
> **How can you be  
>  so stupid?**
> 
> **Oh, God, I’m SO  
>  sorry. I shouldn’t  
> have said that to  
> you. You aren’t  
> stupid and I didn’t  
> mean to say that. **
> 
> **I wasn’t thinking.**
> 
> **I’m sorry.**
> 
> **Aziraphale?  
>  Please answer me.**
> 
> **Fine. If you won’t  
>  talk to me, you at  
> least need to see  
> this.**

Aziraphale received an email.

**_Michael Fell has shared a video with you.  
AC_piano.mp4_ **

Aziraphale pushed the play icon before he could stop himself.

The angle of the video wasn’t particularly good. It looked as if Michael was trying to hide the camera behind something. Regardless, though Aziraphale didn't recognize him at first with his newly-shorn hair, Crowley was perfectly visible on the screen, sitting in front of a piano with his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through the longer hair on top of his head, pulling slightly, before bringing a fist down on the top of the piano. He snatched the sheet music off of the piano and dropped it in the floor to play something else.

_Sorry, I thought I knew you  
There's gotta be a better way somehow  
I know, I see right through you  
That you should be the one for me  
And I know I've been livin' without you  
And I know I've been wastin' my time after time  
I don't ever want to be doubted  
Oh, I'm not the one to lie_

_'Cause that's what love is  
What we take on  
What I dream about  
What I'm made of_

_  
_Aziraphale pressed his hand against his mouth, trying to keep himself together. It was too much to process. He felt like his chest was burning, like he had too much and not enough oxygen all at once. After a particularly harsh involuntary gasp, he tried to focus on the music again.

_I know you  
I've been around here  
I watch you every day  
Now I've noticed  
You don't come around no more  
Oh, I don't know what to say  
And I know you've been spending your time  
Livin' all these days without me in your life  
I thought you could always be counted on_

_Oh, I'm gonna see your shining face again_

Aziraphale traced his fingers along the edges of the phone as he continued to listen, blinking back tears.

_I can't see clear  
When he comes around again  
I can't live without or ever let it end_

_Yeah  
And I see you waitin'  
For the moment that I come to you and say it's gonna be all right  
And I see this moment for the rest of life to come_

Aziraphale turned it off before the song was through. He rolled over, pulling a salmon-colored hardback out from underneath the pillow on the side of the bed that used to contain his heartbeat, and held the book tightly to his chest.

Crowley stared at the Call Ended screen for a few seconds before screaming into a pillow. Pitching the pillow across the room, he stood up, got dressed, grabbed his guitar case, and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, I really WILL see you Saturday.


	28. That Without Hope, We Live On In Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauntering Vaguely Downwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Steam Powered Giraffe - Hot On The Trail](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5F1awDvbx9s&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=47&t=0s)  
> [Sara Bareilles - Send Me The Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-oDNifT8X4&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=48&t=0s)  
> [Billie Eilish - When The Party’s Over](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbMwTqkKSps&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=49&t=0s)  
> [Neko Case - Wish I was the moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AW-zUz2WXAE&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=49)  
> [Boyce Avenue Cover - Iris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VhqPs1fx1c&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=50)  
> [Newton Faulkner - Dream Catch Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPJ5JMiWTbg&list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm&index=51)
> 
> The chapter title is the second half of this quote, the first half being the title for the previous chapter.  
>  _  
> “Lost are we, and are only so far punished,_  
>  _That without hope we live on in desire.”_  
>  ― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Crowley loaded his guitar case into the car, got behind the wheel, and set upon the trail towards the center of his own universe. He reached over to flick the knob on the radio up.

_All the little pieces make up so much  
Sense in the distance, a-whoa-ho-ho-ho  
Fragmented to the point of is it possible?_

“You did all of this _because_ you love me,” Crowley reasoned. “I _know_ that now. I _get_ _it_ now. We can fix it this time, Angel, but you have to meet me halfway. Work with me, here!”

_Hot on the trail of a real fine life  
This could be what it means to be alive  
Can't be too sure but it feels the right way  
Love is infinite like sun rays_

“I’m tired of only surviving on shadows,” Crowley sighed painfully. “I miss your light _so much_. We were _made_ for each other.”

_I know what I need to be me  
And I know being me makes it hard to see  
Standing on a precipice isn't new  
Those demons sometimes get me seeing blue_

“I _need_ you, Angel. Without you, I’m not _me_. I’m just another shadow on the walls of my past.”

_All this, call this, what you want but it  
Makes me feel alive_

“I want my husband back.”

_Stowed it, showed it, now I know it  
Can't be in my mind_

“You’ve been wearing my ring. I’m not imagining this,” Crowley bit the thumbnail of one hand while the other stayed on the wheel.

_It was foreign, pouring, I've been storing  
This for a long while_

Crowley pulled his hand from his teeth long enough to point at the radio. “Seven months!”

_I consumed, felt doomed, sung a new tune  
Eventually in time_

Crowley’s head lowered slightly in shame. “I shouldn’t have given up so quickly. You came back expecting me to be waiting.”

_But you don't like that way that I feel (is the way)  
Way that makes you feel worse all of the time (and I know)  
Know that it's not okay for you (and it's not)  
Not for me and is for you so sorry about_

“You came back for _me_ , and I _turned you away_.” Crowley was haunted by the memory of Aziraphale mouthing such a sad, forlorn _‘I’m sorry’_ the last time they saw one another. He glowered, gripping the wheel tightly.

_All of these things that you didn't sign up for (and I don't)  
Don't wish the pain on you it's so sore (but I've been)  
Honest to fault (but it doesn't help)  
I know that it hurts and it hurts and it keeps on hurting_

Crowley‘s mind shifted to the look on Aziraphale’s face in the photo Michael showed him. “What they did to me, it wasn’t your fault, and it _damn_ sure isn’t your responsibility.”

_Every single time we try and try to  
Make things right for you and I  
We just kept digging, digging it deep  
Below our feet 'till we started to sink_

“We got off balance, Angel. We’ve been so out of step with one another. That’s not us. Or it used to not be, anyway.”

_And I didn't know what what to do  
I told myself the truth the truth  
And I could understand and you could understand  
But how could we stand, when there was nowhere to stand?_

“We used to be better than all of this. We _worked._ We were so _good_ together.” Crowley’s jaw tightened. “Before you left, we were almost there again, weren’t we? We were making an effort. You… Oh, _fuck_ ,” Crowley hit the steering wheel. “I wish I had gotten your message. We were _finally_ starting to work things out.” Crowley’s bottom lip trembled as he spoke to the stereophonic surrogate for the angel. “We almost had it together then, didn’t we? I want to be _us_ again.”

Crowley was feeling so erratic and all over the place, both physically and mentally. His heart was racing and he was sick to his stomach. He assumed it was because of how he was feeling about the situation with Aziraphale.

_I know what I need to be me  
And I know being me makes it hard to see  
The distance hasn't always been clear  
But finally with our love it could appear_

“I need _you_ , and I need you to want this, too.”

Crowley was growing desperate. He had given Aziraphale every word he had, but the angel had refused them. It was time for an action, and actions were Crowley’s specialty.

_And you don't like what it is (you don't like what it is)  
And you don't know what it is (you don't know what it is)  
And I can't sum it up easily  
But I know what it is that I plainly see_

“You love me,” Crowley reassured himself as he parked the car. “You _do_. The world got in the way, but you still love me. I just have to remind you.” 

_Yeah who could have liked what it was?  
It caused such a fuss  
My heart placed in your hand  
Then we gave love a chance and_

Crowley felt light-headed and fluttery of stomach. “This is it.” He flexed his fingers along the wheel, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.

Aziraphale was curled up in a ball beneath his blankets, holding his first-edition copy of The House on Pooh Corner, when he heard someone calling his name from outside. Except that it wasn’t his _given_ name that was being called. It was, however, a name that _had been given to_ him by the one person he wanted to see most, and least, right now in the entire universe.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said aloud as he heard the music begin.

_Holding my breath  
Last one I've got left  
Till I see you  
Deliver my heart with the  
Pieces and parts of me left  
Every last day seemed to carry the weight  
Of a lifetime  
I watched from the ground  
As the gold fluttered down from the sky_

Aziraphale sat on the edge of his bed, clutching the book in the dark of his room as if it were the only thing grounding him and keeping him some semblance of stable. He walked over to the window, careful to stay out of sight, to listen closer. His chin quivered, wanting nothing more than to rush down to throw himself at Crowley’s feet and beg for the forgiveness he knew he already had.

_Inches away from you  
Scared what I'll take from you, darling  
I could live with your ghost  
If you say that's the most that I'll get  
Darkness to light  
Move from day into night  
to be near you  
Still here I stand  
I am sinking like sand in your sea_

“How _dare_ he come here, _especially_ now that he knows the risk,” Aziraphale said through clenched teeth. “He…” It was too much. Aziraphale’s shoulders shook as he leaned against the wall, holding his face in his hand. “I’m so tired. I haven’t got much fight left in me. I’ve tried to stay away, though I _never_ wanted to.” His breath hitched in his chest.

“I thought… I thought I could make this work, but everything’s gone so _dreadfully_ wrong. I’ve tried so hard not to lead him directly to you.” He leaned in closer to the window, letting out a pained whimper that was part sorrow and part physical discomfort. “Oh, my resplendent Titania,” Aziraphale whispered, reaching out to touch the fingertips of his left hand along the pane of glass between himself and where Crowley stood. “You could never _truly_ be mine. ‘ _But if I had wit enough to get out_ _of this wood_ ,” Aziraphale sighed, holding his right arm tightly against his side. “You _must_ _stop_ chasing me. It’s still too dangerous for you to be anywhere near me, even more now than before. I’m so tired of hurting you. Please, I don't want to do it anymore. You never deserved _any_ of this.”

_  
Never you mind where the evening should find us  
Together  
Distance can't take what is hidden here  
Safe in my chest  
I'll wait for the day when  
We finally say now or never  
Till then I'll be here wanting more  
As I settle for atmosphere_

Aziraphale opened the window. He could see Crowley down below. Hope, fear, and love were written across his face, gently illuminated as the moonlight filtered occasionally through the clouds moving in the sky.

_Sweet sun  
Send me the moon  
Empty the skies out  
Bringing me one step closer to you  
Send it soon  
And I will breathe in, breathe out  
Until you come in and out  
I will breathe in, breathe out  
Til you come in  
I will breathe in, breathe out  
Til you come in and out  
Of view_

The two stared at one another, Aziraphale through the window and Crowley standing down on the pavement.

 _I know you,_ Aziraphale thought. _If you took one good look at me now, you’d march straight through Heaven or Hell and into the jaws of death._ He had to do something drastic to keep Crowley away.

Aziraphale felt sick as his heart clenched painfully in his chest when he heard the all too familiar first few notes of the next song. Aziraphale whispered on a wind that would never reach Crowley’s ears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to protect you.”

_Saying I—_

“You need to leave!” Aziraphale shouted down at him, yanking the ring off of his finger and throwing it. Moonlight bounced off of the gold as it fell to the ground, landing at Crowley’s feet. Aziraphale slammed the window shut hard enough to knock his ratty old Pooh bear off of the shelf above the bed and send a spiderweb crack along the corner of the window itself. Throwing himself down against the pillows, Aziraphale clutched the bear tightly to his chest with his left arm and cried himself to sleep.

Crowley, stunned, stood on the pavement for several minutes, staring at the ring on the ground. He bent down to pick it up, noticing the polyurethane size adjuster band double-wrapped along the bottom of the ring. Crowley removed the sizer and slipped the ring on his left ring finger. He packed up his guitar, loaded it in the boot, and climbed into the front seat of his car. He sat there for the rest of the night, silently hoping Aziraphale would come outside or return to the window. When the first rays of the sunrise began to paint streaks into the sky, Crowley started the car to go back to his room at the hotel.

_Don't you know I'm no good for you?  
I've learned to lose you, can't afford to  
Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'  
But nothin' ever stops you leavin'_

Crowley looked at the ring on his left hand. “Nothing ever stops you leaving,” he repeated as his eyes began to blur through the moisture building up on his lower eyelids.

_I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that_

“Life at the Inferno isn’t so bad, is it? It’s… I’ve got a good thing going now, don’t I? It’s fi—"

Crowley was such a tired, distracted, and distraught mess that he didn’t even notice he had slipped across the center lines of the road. It wasn’t until he heard the horn blaring ahead of him that he swerved back into his own lane, just in time to avoid the oncoming headlights in the fading twilight as the sun rose at his back. He pulled over to calm down and try to clear his head.

_Don't you know too much already?  
I'll only hurt you if you let me_

“Are you scared of what might happen to me, or are you scared of how it would affect you? I don’t know if that distinction even matters,” Crowley asked the radio.

_  
Call me friend but keep me closer (call me back)  
And I'll call you when the party's over_

“I don’t… I don’t want to _do_ this, Aziraphale. How am I supposed to do this? I thought I _knew_ what to do, then everything changed.” Crowley’s face contorted. “How many times are you going to turn my entire world upside-down?”

_Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own_

“I don’t want to go home like this. That isn’t _home._ Home is behind me, where _you_ are.” Crowley gripped the wheel tightly beneath his white knuckles. “You’re going to let me come home _eventually_. I know I… I fucked up, Angel. I know I did. But so did you.” Crowley pulled back onto the motorway. “But it’s okay," Crowley amended quickly, as if Aziraphale could hear him and might have gotten upset. "We’re _both_ idiots. We can still work this out, can’t we? All we’ve got to do is get on the same page at the same time for once.”

_But nothing is better sometimes  
Once we've both said our goodbyes_

“No, you gave me the ring back this time,” Crowley said, deflating with a grimace as the early morning sunlight coming in from behind him glinted against the ring on his hand. “You really _don’t_ want me anymore.”

_  
Let's just let it go  
Let me let you go_

“Let me let you go.”

The sun was up high enough to catch the rear-view mirror, shining in his eyes. He popped open the glove compartment, fishing out one of a few pairs of sunglasses. Glancing down at the ring on his left hand once more, he took a deep breath through his nose, pulling the arm of the glasses back with his teeth to slide them on as he drove, his face set in a pained scowl.

“I’m on my own.”

_I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that_

Aziraphale woke up with a need to hear Crowley's voice one last time before he could _really_ accept that it was over now. Now that Crowley _knew_ , Aziraphale could already see his worst fears playing out in his mind. Now that Crowley knew how _dangerous_ Gabe could be, he never would have been okay with Aziraphale taking a job around him, albeit temporarily.

When he had planned to tell Crowley all of this before, the risk wasn’t as big. His step-father was supposed to have been there _with_ them on the tour, and that would have kept Aziraphale further from Gabe, at least a little bit. But when Enoch didn’t go with them, due to elevated PSA levels that needed further testing during Enoch’s most recent physical exam, as Aziraphale later found out, there was no longer that protective buffer Aziraphale had been expecting. That had changed quite a few things. Along with the stone and a half of weight he had lost over the last seven weeks, there was a pattern of reasons running up and down his right arm and shoulder that scared Aziraphale of how Crowley would react. He fully expected that Crowley would storm the gleaming halls of the Vox Dei building like a demon spitting Hellfire once he discovered Aziraphale had been avoiding Gabe over more than just a few uncomfortable comments after officially meeting him their parents wedding.

And that would be it, wouldn’t it? That would be the end of them _both_. Aziraphale refused to watch someone else go down for him. He knew it hadn’t exactly been fair to Crowley for Aziraphale to hope he would have waited for him to get all of this sorted, but he had hoped he would have had more time.

Even with all of the time in the world, Aziraphale knew he would have made a mess of things regardless. If he didn’t know that before, the past few months had reminded him of it repeatedly. It was for the best. He needed to let Crowley go and stop hurting him or putting him in harm’s way.

Aziraphale just needed _one last_ goodbye. That was healthy, right? That was closure, and people needed closure so they could move on. That’s what he told himself, at least.

Aziraphale put his coat on, in spite of the heat, and headed to Covent Garden, making one stop along the way first.

Crowley’s voice was a siren’s call to Aziraphale. He moved through the crowds, drawn to his heart’s deepest desire.

_Last night I dreamt I'd forgotten my name  
'Cause I sold my soul  
But I woke just the same_

Crowley spotted Aziraphale in the crowd, not that he very well could have hidden with hair like his. Their eyes locked as Crowley began to sing the next verse.

_  
I'm so lonely  
I wish I was the moon tonight_

Crowley began strumming the steel strings of his guitar hard enough that the plaster protecting the cut on his finger from the broken strawberry pot had come undone.

_God blessed me I'm a free man  
With no place free to go  
Paralyzed and collared-tight  
No pills for what I fear  
This is crazy  
I wish I was the moon tonight_

Though the cut should have already healed over after two weeks, it was still tender and sore. It wasn’t a particularly deep cut, but he hadn’t been healing as quickly as he used to in recent weeks.

_Chimney falls as lovers blaze  
I thought that I was young  
Now I've freezing hands  
And bloodless veins  
As numb as I've become  
I'm so tired  
I wish I was the moon tonight_

The cut on Crowley’s finger split open, bleeding against the strings of the guitar in his lap.  
Crowley’s eyes were shut tight, voice rasping as he forced himself to continue to sing.

_How will you know if you've found me at last?  
'Cause I'll be the one be the one be the one  
With my heart in my lap  
I'm so tired  
I'm so tired_

Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn to Crowley’s hands, one bleeding as it strummed, the other fretting while wearing the ring that he had cherished as his most prized possession less than 24 hours prior _. All I do is bring you pain_ , Aziraphale thought.

_  
And I wish I was the moon tonight_

When Crowley looked up at the end of the song, Aziraphale was gone. There was a single striped carnation inside of his guitar case.

“I guess that’s just what you _do_ ,” Crowley said quietly, narrowing his eyes at the flower. “ _Obviously_.”

Crowley sat in his room, guitar in hand, working on a new set list.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
And sooner or later it's over  
I just don't wanna miss you tonight_

“Nope,” he said suddenly, wadding up the sheet music in front of him and throwing it across the room. “I can’t do it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, growling in strained frustration. “Fuck that. No.”

He placed another set of sheet music out on the bed in front of him.

He was supposed to be in Louis’s office already, but there was a voice in the back of his mind whispering for him not to go. It was the _one_ voice he wanted to hear again more than _anything_ , acting as the angel on his shoulder.

He took a deep, grounding breath, and began to practice the chords on the sheet in front of him.

_There's a place I go  
When I'm alone  
Do anything I want  
Be anyone I wanna be  
But it is us I see_

_  
And I cannot believe I'm fallin  
That's where I'm goin  
Where are you goin_

**_“You need to leave!!!”_ **

Crowley’s eyes closed tightly as he tried to force the memory of Aziraphale slamming the window out of his mind.

_You do so much  
That you don't know  
It's true  
And I know now  
Who I am_

Did Aziraphale pray for him still? Did he ever? Crowley didn’t know, but some part, deep down, a part of himself that he thought had been crushed to dust long ago, held out hope that Aziraphale did.

_See you as a mountain  
A fountain of God  
See you as a descant soul  
In the setting sun  
You as the sound  
Just as silent as none_

He could practically hear the other voice, the one that often encouraged him to get out there and make some trouble, in his head. It was urging for him to hurry up. _Louis and the guys are waiting_ , it hissed.

His phone chimed with a text.

“Speak of the Devil,” he said out loud as he read the name on the notification.

> **Are you coming?  
>  I’ve got something  
> new. You get to try  
> it before it goes  
> into circulation.  
> We’re waiting for  
> you, Crowley.**

Crowley hesitated before responding. He had no idea what Louis was going to have him try. He knew this could be dangerous, especially since he was still supposed to be careful about what he put in his system because of his kidneys. He had _not_ been doing that for a long time. He was already risking too much as it was, with the incentive bonus Louis had started giving him to stay on playing in the lounge beyond winter. It wasn’t too bad, at first. Louis only gave him a little bit here and there, but with the extra money Louis had started paying him, he was able to buy his own, too, without involving Louis at all.

He told himself he had only been partaking just to be able to pass out, or to at least quiet his mind enough so he could sleep. But the fact was that he couldn’t remember the last day or night he _hadn’t_ had a drink, a pill, or _something_ just to keep himself together, and it was only getting worse with each passing week. It was especially bad tonight, when he couldn’t stop his mind from racing.

Question after question attacked him. What had he done wrong? What could he have done differently? Why couldn’t he have never met Aziraphale? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about him? Why did the world have to be such a fucked-up place? Why did that _blasted text_ not go through? Why did Aziraphale have to show up and give him _that_ fucking flower _today_? Why couldn’t he ever _just be happy_?

Crowley couldn’t help but think he had fucked everything all up. In that moment, it _didn’t matter_ that Aziraphale had been the one to end it. It _didn’t matter_ that Michael had come to tell him about Gabe. _None_ of that mattered. It was _all Crowley’s fault_. Maybe if he hadn’t… Maybe they could have…

No, he had fucked someone else. That was _it_. It was _done_. Aziraphale knew it, and he could never take that back. It _didn’t_ _matter_ that it was just a job. It _didn’t matter_ that they weren’t even together. It _didn’t matter_ that Aziraphale had been in open relationships and was comfortable with multiple partners in the past, because he knew Crowley _wasn’t_. Crowley wasn’t _at all_ ashamed of the act itself, of course. He had the utmost respect for Dana and the rest of the Third Circle workers. It was a job like any other, a service rendered. But Crowley had discovered that he quite _liked_ monogamy, once he had the opportunity to experience it. Knowing that about himself, and discovering that Aziraphale hadn’t _actually_ abandoned him at all, it felt like a betrayal to allow someone else to touch him in the way that he had given himself to Aziraphale. Crowley knew in his heart he still loved Aziraphale, and had told him so. How could he say he loved the angel and do that? It was fine for other people, but they both knew how serious of a subject sex had been for Crowley. Why would Aziraphale want him now? Yeah, Aziraphale might still _care_ about Crowley, but if he really knew how low Crowley had sunk in these last few weeks, if he had known about all the drugs and the drinking on top of what he did the night before last for money, how could the angel filthy his beautiful hands by touching him ever again?

Why did _everything_ he ever tried to do to just _be_ _okay_ come back to bite him?

 _Unforgivable_ _,_ he thought. _That’s what I am._

 _No wonder Aziraphale threw his wedding ring down to the ground,_ Crowley thought. _It probably weighed him down like a lead balloon._

Crowley walked over to the medicine cabinet, opening the door to look between the collection he had amassed and the text on the phone in his hand. “Can’t say that I blame him,” Crowley said to his reflection in the mirror next to the cabinet. He sighed, tilting his head side to side as he looked himself over. His eyes were bloodshot, but he couldn’t tell if it was from being awake since the previous morning, from crying, from drinking, or from one of the little bottles in the cabinet beside him. “I wouldn’t want a husband like me, either. Not even if he were only a dirty little secret.” Crowley put his phone down next to the sink and stepped away from the open cabinet.

Crowley could barely function without wanting to lie in the floor curled up in a little ball to cry. He just wanted some peace. He _needed_ an escape, even if it were only temporary.

Crowley began to pace around the room, chewing on his thumbnail as he fought an internal war. He found himself standing before the set of shelves as tall as he was, full of the plants Aziraphale had sent him. He stopped to gently touch the leaves of a maidenhair fern. “I was a secret, just like you, but he loved me then, I think. I thought I knew, you know? And then he gave me the ring back, and maybe… I thought maybe he _was_ telling me the truth, then, that he didn’t love me anymore.” Crowley’s head tilted to the side with a pout. “I didn’t _like_ it, but I thought I _might_ be ready to let him go finally, if he truly didn’t want me,” he explained patiently to the fern. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted. It _hurt_ , it _still_ _hurts_ , but I was nearly ready after that, I think. Ready-adjacent, anyway.” Crowley’s eyes shifted to the vase with the striped carnation. “Until _you_ showed up,” he snarled at the flower. “I know what _you_ mean. If he’s truly sorry he can’t be with me, and wishes he _could_ , he could have…” His voice trailed off into a rumbling growl.

Crowley glared at the flower, picking up the vase. “You know what you've done. You've disappointed me. You don’t belong with _them_ ,” he pointed to the rest of the plants on the shelf. “They’re innocent in all of this, but not _you_.”

Crowley leaned in to sniff the flower, tutting quietly. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.” He lifted the vase back up, displaying it to the plants on the shelf before him. “Everyone! Say goodbye to your friend. He just couldn't cut it.” Crowley turned around, looking at the flower in his hand. “Now, this is going to hurt you _so much more_ than it will hurt me,” he lied, attempting to convince himself otherwise.

Crowley caught sight of the open medicine cabinet again. _If I go over there to dispose of this fucking thing, I already know how it’s is going to end_ , he thought. He turned his back to the cabinet once more, leaning against of the plant shelves while still holding the bud vase.

“ _No_!” He shouted, slamming his fist down against the shelf, loosening a screw near the bottom. _No_ , he thought. He was going to do _better_. He _was_. He was going to _stop_ all of this. He just… He just had to make it through tonight. If he could do that, he could make it through _anything_ , he thought.

Crowley carefully placed the vase back on the shelf, the slight vibration being just enough for the loose screw to fall silently to the floor. He sat back down on the bed to continue strumming along on his guitar, trying to distract himself.

_Dream catch me, yeah  
Dream catch me when I fall  
Or else I won't come back at all_

The distraction didn’t last long.

> **Yeah OK  
>  omw**

Within an hour of Crowley heading up to Louis’s penthouse suite, the shelves, in their weakened state, came down in a crashing fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act three begins next.
> 
> For those interested, you can find the playlist of specific songs used in the chapters here on the [Music and Manuscripts YouTube playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYnXjkOI8nD6N0oyiLfTdbGtDiJQ5uxVm)  
>   
> If you prefer, there is also a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3G9LoFLoefyKwffk2hXkob), though it does not contain all of the songs, nor does it contain the same versions of some songs, due to them not being available through the platform.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/amadness2method/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/amadness2method), or [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amadness2method) for updates, WIP info, or just to chat.  
> I'm amadness2method pretty much anywhere. If you see my ducks, it's probably me.


	29. I Did Not Die, And Yet I Lost Life's Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rise and Fall of Crowley and Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter deals with some potentially heavy elements in the beginning, but it will turn out all right.
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> [Morgan James – Cover of Hallelujah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_ekta_LzS0)  
> [Postmodern Jukebox feat. Morgan James – Cover of Take Me To Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9C0xGB73Uuc)  
> Original version:  
> [Hozier – Take Me To Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVjiKRfKpPI) (Warning: Hozier’s official video has potentially disturbing imagery regarding homophobia. I include it because of the purpose of the song itself, but I used Morgan James's version for the lyrics and to tie in between the two songs)  
> [Lady Gaga - Stupid Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5L6xyaeiV58)
> 
> Chapter title is from Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Crowley heard a voice he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt someone touch his shoulder. He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened.

Darkness.

Quiet.

Peace.

_Finally._

His lungs spasmed in a stridorous breath as he came back to consciousness.

Pain.

Something was in his mouth.

More unfamiliar voices were all around him. They were distorted, as if they were all standing on the edge while he was underwater.

One of his eyes opened without his permission. The light that passed back and forth was too bright for him to see anything.

Pain.

His other eye was forced open.

More light.

More pain.

He wondered if he was on fire.

More darkness.

More sounds. He couldn’t open his eyes or close his mouth. His throat burned. So did everything else.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe he could let go, just a little.

There wasn’t much further down to go.

Just

Need

To

_Sleep_.

**“ _CLEAR_!!!”**

**_Pain_**.

Jolting pressure radiated through him.

_Am I burning?_

Darkness.

A familiar voice faded in and out. “…happened? …how long until… Will he be able to… When can he…”

_Angel, have you come for me? Have you come to take me home?_

An unfamiliar voice.

“… revived… function… previous… concerns… watching output…”

Darkness.

Quiet.

Crowley felt something warm and soft press against his forehead.

“…awake… dreamed… like best.”

He fell back into the void once more.

He was climbing. No, that wasn’t right. Climbing needed limbs, didn’t it? He didn’t have anything like that. Was he slithering? Was that a thing he did now? He looked up into the painfully bright sunshine.

_Aziraphale._

His angel was standing on top of a wall, back to him, just out of reach. He struggled his way up the stonework to rest at Aziraphale’s feet.

Crowley tried, but failed, to stand. _Was_ he still Crowley? Or perhaps Crawley? He wasn’t sure anymore. Whoever he was, he gasped as he took in the sight before him. There were plants as far as the eye could see. Marigolds, ferns, carnations, myrtle, daisies, snapdragons, and more. He looked further to see hectare upon hectare of strawberries and roses leading a spiraling path right to the center of the vast garden. There, directly in the middle of it all, he saw _their_ apple tree.

 _Aziraphale,_ he tried to force the words from his mouth, but they were trapped by forked tongue and venomous teeth. _Do you know where we are?_ He turned to look up at the angel. _This is our Eden._ _Were you here because you were waiting for me?_

The angel continued to look out across the land.

_Aziraphale, can you hear me? I’m in here, somewhere, I think. I’ve fallen so far away. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared._

Aziraphale turned to look at him, his halo glowing as brightly as his smile. Crowley pulled strength from the divine light in the angel’s eyes, finding his form once more from the coiling mass of shadowy confusion that brought him to where he now stood.

“I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing. It’s been bothering me,” the angel said to him, the resplendent glow that once shone brightly now dim and fading.

“I’ve been worrying, too,” Crowley replied, looking down to notice the heavy chains around his neck. “Funny if we both got it wrong, eh?”

“No,” the angel said sadly. “It wouldn’t be funny at all.”

The sky grew dark and violent as hot drops of rain fell on Crowley’s face and hand. He closed his eyes as protective wings wrapped around him, blocking out all sight and sound, save for the angel’s voice.

“…Need you… Wake up.”

He could feel something.

Pain.

There was another feeling.

Both his face and the back of his hand were wet.

“ _Please_.”

**_Hold on.  
Don’t let go.  
You probably won’t remember this part, anyway._ **

Choking.

He was choking. His throat was on fire and he was choking.

He heard a muffled, but loud, buzzing, followed by a frantic voice.

“Something’s wrong!”

Though he still couldn’t open his eyes, he’d know that voice anywhere. The other voices, however, he couldn’t place.

“Sir, you need to step aside.”

“It’s all right, this is good. It means he’s trying to breathe on his own.”

He felt something pulling against his cheek, followed by something new in his mouth.

“Anthony, can you hear me?”

“He goes by Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

“Crowley, I know it’s scary, but we’ve got to remove your tube. I need you to take a deep breath for me and then cough. Can you do that?”

Crowley wasn’t sure if he nodded or not, though he made an attempt to do so. Trying to take a deep breath in and of itself was enough to make him cough without meaning to yet. The sensation of the tube being pulled from his throat through his mouth startled him. His eyes flew open, panicked and confused, to lock onto the mirrored fear in Aziraphale’s eyes from the other end of the hospital bed he was in.

In all the excitement and frenzy following the moment he woke up in a hospital bed, Crowley still had no idea what happened. Everything was so hazy. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was in a hospital and Aziraphale was there. All he could immediately remember was that Aziraphale had rejected him again last they spoke.

“Why are you here?” Crowley’s voice was rough from disuse and previous intubation.

“Still your emergency contact,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s red-rimmed eyes. “You’ve been crying,” he stated.

“Did you expect I’d be celebrating?”

“Didn’t expect you’d give a damn at all, actually,” Crowley grumbled, clearing his throat.

Aziraphale was surprised by how hard the words hit. “That’s—”

“That’s what you said to me, Ang— _Fuck.”_ He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head and cursing himself for almost letting that slip. “Aziraphale.”

“I _never_ said that.”

“Maybe not in so many words, but it sure as Hell was close enough.” He rolled over as much as the wires and tubes he was attached to would allow and tried to go back to sleep.

When Crowley awoke next, Aziraphale was still in the room, talking with a doctor. Noticing Crowley was awake, Aziraphale nodded towards him and went to sit down as the doctor explained things to Crowley.

Crowley had overdosed. They had gotten to him relatively quickly, which was good, but they had to resuscitate him twice before he stabilized. He had been in a coma for just over three days. They anticipated some memory loss, but as to how long it lasted, that remained to be seen.

They would be monitoring him for any further cognitive issues, and more tests were needed to monitor the added strain to his kidneys. He wasn’t healing as quickly as he normally should have, which was a concern. The reality of it all having not fully sunk in, Crowley was mostly upset about being tethered, once again, to that blasted piss bag.

Crowley rolled over as much as his monitors would allow and went back to sleep.

“Nobody is forcing you to be here, Aziraphale,” Crowley said without opening his eyes.

“How did you know I was in here?”

“I know what you smell like.” If Crowley hadn’t been so angry, he might have enjoyed it. As it stood, though, he didn’t remember anything after Aziraphale throwing his ring down, and the hurt was fresh in his mind.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather stay.”

“And if I do mind?” Crowley opened his eyes to glare at the ceiling, bringing his thumbnail to his mouth to bite.

Aziraphale looked hurt, but stood up. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, will you?” Crowley mumbled around his thumbnail. “ _Of course_ you will. You’re good at that. Lucky you, I’m tethered to all of these blasted things and can’t follow you.”

“I’m right here." Aziraphale huffed an indignant breath, sitting back down. "You don’t have to follow me when I’m sitting right here." He shrugged his left shoulder. "Say what you have to say. What is it you want from me, Crowley? What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t act as if you actually care about what I want,” Crowley said angrily. “Because that has been established to be utter bollocks. But what I can’t figure out is why you’re still in my room acting as if you’re affected by any of this. What possible reason could you have to be here?”

Aziraphale looked heartbroken, though Crowley wouldn’t look at him to see it. “I thought I’d _lost_ you.”

“You didn’t _lose_ anything, Aziraphale. I’m exactly where you _left_ me.” Crowley turned to face him finally. “You made that choice when you _gave me away_.”

“You _died_ , you idiot!” Aziraphale’s voice shrilled, causing everyone at the nurse’s desk to look up towards the open door. “Twice! You died _twice_! You’re lucky they were able to bring you back both times.” Aziraphale was frantic.

Crowley glared at him. “You know, I’m _really_ tired of people telling me how _lucky_ I am. It’s almost as if no one knows what that word—"

“You were _dead_ ,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “Do you understand what that _means_?”

“Yes, I know what dead means!” Crowley snapped back.

“It was all for nothing! That’s… That’s the whole reason for this, for _all of this_ , Crowley!” He waved his arms out, flinching, frustrated, stressed, and exhausted as he spoke. “That’s exactly what I was trying to _avoid_ , you _stupid_ _man_!”

Crowley was silent as he stared at Aziraphale. Crowley suddenly realized he had had not actually _seen_ Aziraphale _up_ _close_ and in daylight in the last two months. He noticed, for the first time since waking up in the hospital again, how much looser Aziraphale’s clothing was than he remembered. The face that had once been so fetchingly plump, bright, and cheerful was now dull, near-gaunt, and haunted. _What has happened to you, Angel? What did this to you? Was it me?_

“Well?” Aziraphale near-shouted. “Have you anything to say?”

Crowley, suddenly filled with new fear and concern, was caught off-guard and yelled back. “I don’t know what you _want_ me to say!”

By now, the two of them had grown loud enough that a nurse stood up from the desk, nodding at someone just coming in from the hallway.

Aziraphale, one fist now clenched and dropped down to his side, the other drawn up protectively against his ribs, was shaking. “Come up with _something_ or, or—”

The door to the room, which was only partially open before, swung open wide, interrupting Aziraphale mid-sentence. They both turned to look as a nurse and a security officer stepped inside the room.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the nurse said cautiously. “Sorry to break up an intimate moment. Is everything all right in here?”

Aziraphale, lips pressed into a tight line, nodded curtly and left the room.

“Mr. Crowley, if he returns, would you like for us to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Crowley said quickly. He was still a bit in shock, but he knew they needed to finish that conversation. Hopefully, they could continue when they had both calmed down.

Finding himself alone in his hospital room once more, he rolled over and closed his eyes. He could hear music coming from the nurse’s station outside of his partially open door.

_Your faith was strong, but you needed proof  
You saw her bathing on the roof  
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you  
She tied you to a kitchen chair  
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair  
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

The image of the harsh lines of Aziraphale’s face by the light of the moon when they had last spoken, before he ended up in the hospital again, hit Crowley like a brick. His memory flashed to gold falling down.

“Our ring,” he whispered, panicking slightly upon realizing it wasn’t on his hand. His eyes landed on the clear bag with the unfortunately familiar envelope for jewelry and small things inside across the room on the table. He couldn’t get up to retrieve the envelope to check the contents, but just knowing there _was_ one gave him Schrodinger’s version of reassurance.

_Baby, I've been here before  
I’ve seen this room and I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
And I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch  
But love is not a victory march,  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

Crowley rolled back over to stare at the ceiling with a sigh.

_Hallelujah, hallelujah  
Hallelujah, hallelujah_

“I _want_ to be angry at you right now, Aziraphale,” Crowley spoke quietly around the thumbnail of one hand between his teeth as he tugged gently at the short hairs along the back of his head with the other. “I have _every right_ to be angry, don’t I? I _know_ I do. Well, almost every right. I mean, I… Is it _my fault_ you never told me? _I’m to blame_ when _you_ never told me _any_ of this?”

Crowley couldn’t help but remember the way Aziraphale had looked on their moonlit swim, back when everything was still so fresh, new, and unblemished. Crowley had been so scared, back then, that he wouldn’t be good enough. “Funny how things circle back, isn’t it? Thinking I wasn’t good enough, back then. And here I am, going out of my way to _prove that_.” An ironic laugh erupted from his throat suddenly. “Here I am, once _again_ , broken and defective in a hospital bed, just waiting for you to return.”

Crowley leaned his head back against the pillow, rubbing his eyes before tilting his head to look at the door.

_Well, there was a time that you let me know  
What's really going on below  
But now you never show that to me, do you?  
But remember when I moved in you  
The holy dove was moving, too  
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

Crowley wanted so badly to be held by Aziraphale again. He could almost remember possibly dreaming about it, but every time he tried to concentrate, the image shifted away from him, blending into his consciousness like a drop of dye in water. His only other recent memory was two months old, pressed up against the dark wall of a dressing room. Enough had happened to him recently that even _that_ memory was growing fuzzy.

Crowley sighed heavily. “Great Plan? God, you listening?” He looked up at the ceiling with every scrap of piety he could muster. “Show me a Great Plan.” He shook his head, covering his eyes. “Okay, I know you're testing us, you said you were going to be testing us.” He squeezed his free hand into a fist. “You shouldn't test us to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

_Well, maybe there's a God above  
But all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you  
But it's not a cry you hear at night  
And it's not someone who’s seen the light,  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

Crowley considered for a moment, thinking back to something Aziraphale had said the night before Crowley had OD’d.

_“I met you **because** they hurt you.”  
  
_

_Hallelujah, hallelujah  
Hallelujah, hallelujah_

_  
_He blew a puff of air through his lips with a groan. “This is that free will stuff Aziraphale was talking about, isn’t it? Those choices. I could have had a safe life without _any_ of this, but that would have meant no Angel. That was a horrible thing, but it brought Aziraphale into my life. This,” he lifted his arm to look at the wires and tubes attached, “Is a horrible thing, but it brought him _back_ into my life.” Crowley shook his head, looking back up to the ceiling. “Are you trying to send me a message? Couldn’t you just set a bush on fire or something?”

Though the version of the song playing through his door did not contain the last verse, he sang it quietly to himself anyway.

_I've done my best, I know it wasn't much  
I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch  
I've told the truth, I didn't come here to fool you  
And even though it all went wrong  
I'll stand before the Lord of Song  
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

Crowley closed his eyes, pushing a single tear down his face. Though he was not done being angry, he went to sleep in the hopes that Aziraphale would be there when he woke up again.

_Hallelujah, hallelujah  
Hallelujah, hallelujah_

Aziraphale slammed the door as he got into his car, barely muffling his frustrated shout with the sleeve on his left arm. He turned the key in the ignition, unsure of where he was headed. All he knew was he didn't want to go home without Crowley. He sat with the engine idling, trying to calm himself enough to drive _somewhere_ , and turned on the radio.

_My lover's got humour  
He's the giggle at a funeral  
Knows everybody's disapproval  
I should've worshipped him sooner_

Aziraphale let out a pained gasp as he began to pay attention. “I _should_ have.”

_If the heavens ever did speak  
He's the last pure mouthpiece  
Every Sunday's getting more bleak  
A fresh poison every week_

“There’s always _something_.”

_'We were born sick, ' I heard them say it_

A tear trickled down along a cheek hollowed and haunted by ghosts of the past.

_My Church offers no absolutes  
He says, 'Worship in the bedroom.'  
The only heaven I'll be sent to  
Is when I'm alone with you—_

Aziraphale gripped the steering wheel, wishing it were Crowley’s skin he could feel beneath his fingers.

_I was born sick,  
But I love it  
Command me to be well  
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen._

He longed to hold and _be held_ by Crowley again. Aziraphale had held Crowley most of the few days he had been in a coma. He had lain next to him in the hospital bed, arms wrapped around him, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead in a few desperate attempts to wake him up, but it wasn’t the same thing, not at all. Crowley hadn’t held him _back_. He couldn’t at the time.

_If I'm a pagan of the good times  
My lover's the sunlight  
To keep the God on my side  
He demands a sacrifice_

“Oh, Crowley. I… I don’t… I don’t have much left to give, but whatever is left of me at the end of all of this, it’s yours.”

_Drain the whole sea  
Get something shiny  
Something meaty for the main course  
That's a fine-looking high horse  
What you got in the stable?  
We've got a starving faithful_

“What right do I have to judge what you’ve done when I did so much to bring you to it?”

_No Masters or Kings  
When the Ritual begins  
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Aziraphale whispered. “I just wanted to love you and keep you safe.”

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene  
Only then I am Human  
Only then I am Clean_

_  
_“I never meant to push you so far down. I only meant to push you out of harm’s way. Can you forgive me, Crowley?”

_Take me to church  
I'll worship like a God at the shrine of your lies  
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife  
Offer me that deathless death  
Good God, let me give you my life_

“Make me clean.”

_Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen._

Aziraphale found that he had driven to the church where he and Raphael had waited for Linda.

“Where I forgot Crowley,” he reminded himself.

He stood in front of the doors to the church. With the exception of that day, Aziraphale hadn’t stepped foot inside of a church since he was a child. At the time, it hadn’t intimidated him at all. Everything had been covered in drop cloths, and Raphael was with him. They had gone in specifically to wait for Linda, and nothing more. Now, however, was a different story. Peeking through the doorway, he saw it was dark inside, save for the candles burning around the lectern and the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows to cast a kaleidoscope of colors against the floor.

He walked, purposefully without purpose, both knowing exactly what he wanted to say and not knowing at all what to do about it, until he stood at the end of the aisle. He looked up past the winged lectern to the cross on the wall.

“I don’t usually do this,” Aziraphale’s voice, though quiet, echoed throughout the empty sanctuary. “Well, _you_ know that. I talk to you all the time even though I’ve not been comfortable inside of a church for many years.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shifted upwards, pressing together. “But I’m afraid I just don’t know what else to _do_ right now.” He bit his bottom lip, looking at the floor. “It’s all too much.”

He cast his eyes back upon the cross. “Why would you _do_ this?” Aziraphale spoke in a fearful whisper. “I’ve _believed_. I’ve had _faith_ that you gave us these _options_ , these _choices_ , to enrich our lives. And each time something… Something _happened_ , I told myself that it wasn’t…“ He sighed, looking down. “I told myself that we weren’t being punished. But now I’m not so sure.”

Aziraphale held his right arm with his left. “I know… Well, I don’t truly know _anything_ , but I thought I did, anyway. I thought I knew what I was getting into, with the choices I’ve made since finding out everything. But every choice I’ve made has made things so much worse. I can’t figure out how to fix it. And it’s hurting the man I love. It literally killed him. Part of me wants to thank you for letting him come back, but the rest of me wants to shout at you for taking him to begin with.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “If you have to take someone, take Gabe. If he were gone, none of this would be happening. If you could just—”

Aziraphale covered his mouth, realizing he had asked God to strike someone down to make his own life easier.

“Is it me? Is all of this because I’m so terrible? Because I’d ask something like that? Maybe I _was_ born sick.” Aziraphale’s mood shifted from despair bargaining. “But if I had the ability to do so, I’d trade places with Crowley in a heartbeat just to keep anyone else from hurting him more.” He dropped to his knees, watercolor tears forming in his eyes beneath the mosaic of light as he lowered his hands and looked up once more.

“You can have me. I won’t resist, not if it means I can save him from all of this.”

Aziraphale sat on his knees, staring up at the cross. “Is Crowley being punished because he loved me?” Aziraphale asked through gritted teeth. “None of this is his fault. I thought you were supposed to _encourage_ love, not snuff it out.” Aziraphale’s voice grew louder as he sat back on his knees, feeling entirely too small, like a speck of dust swirling through the cosmos. “How could you _do_ something like this again and _again_? How could you create someone so beautiful, so full of love, and then break them for being _wrong_?” He was near-yelling, his voice echoing throughout the church. “Answer me!”

Aziraphale turned around quickly at the sound of a throat clearing. He stood up, brushing himself off, and rushed to apologize. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go.”

“You’re Mrs. Azarias’s friend,” the priest said, reaching a hand out to Aziraphale.

“Oh, Linda, yes,” Aziraphale replied, taking the priest’s hand in his own to shake.

The man thought for a moment, looking Aziraphale up and down, seeming to size him up. “Where is your other friend?”

“Oh, Linda and Raphael went back to Manchester after she was finished here,” Aziraphale said.

“No, I know where she and her husband are,” the priest said gently. “I meant _your_ friend, the one who hot-footed it down the aisle to _you_.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head, looking down. “He’s, um, he’s a bit under the weather,” Aziraphale said, looking around. It was close enough to the truth, he figured.

“Is that why you’re so upset?” The priest looked upon Aziraphale with a warmth he had never before felt inside of the walls of a house of God.

Aziraphale, still looking at the floor, spoke before he could stop himself. “He and I had a bit of a falling out.”

“Pity,” the priest said, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder. “You two seemed like quite a lovely pair.”

Aziraphale’s head shot up just in time to catch the wink on the kind face before him.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” the priest said as he turned around to walk away. “You’re welcome here, any time you need. And I do hope the two of you can work things out. Something like that is worth holding onto.”

 _It is_ , Aziraphale thought as he watched the man disappear into the hallway. He took one last look at the cross. “Thank you,” he said quietly before leaving to return to the hospital.

Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale sitting in the chair across from him, head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He stayed quiet, studying over the familiarly unfamiliar face. _You’re disappearing, Angel._ Crowley bit his thumbnail, or what was left of it as a memory began to clear from the night Aziraphale threw the ring. There was a size adjuster band on it. Crowley hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but now?

_This is why you had to use a size adjuster to wear the ring. You made a conscious effort to keep wearing it. But you threw it back to me. But now you’re here. You’re **still** here. You keep leaving, but you keep coming back. So, which is it? Do you love me or hate me? _

Aziraphale, upon feeling a set of eyes upon him, opened his own. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I seem to have drifted off a bit myself.”

 _Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it._ “Don’t you have a home you could do that in?” _Oh, for fuck’s sake,_ Crowley thought. _What’s wrong with me? I didn't mean that. Why did I say that?_

“Yes, but you’re _here_ ,” Aziraphale replied.

“And whose fault is that?” Crowley snarled. _What the actual fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop myself?_

Aziraphale went paler than the pallor he began with. “I… I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Ngk, uh, no, stop,” Crowley threw his hand up, encouraging Aziraphale to sit back down. “Don’t go. I, uh, I… I didn’t mean that. It just… It just came out,” Crowley managed to stammer. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley growled, frustrated. Having run out of thumbnail, he started biting at his cuticle. _What am I doing? I’m all over the fucking place right now. I need a—_

Crowley stopped mid-thought, realizing that any of the ways he would finish that sentence were how he ended up in this hospital bed to begin with.

 _Oh. **Oh** , that’s what this is,_ he thought. _I’m in withdrawal._ _I only **thought** I was dramatic before. I guess this is my life now._

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale said on reflex.

Crowley felt like he was on the largest and most hazardous mood swing of his entire life. He stopped himself before he yanked the arm covered in wires, instead slamming his free hand against the bed rail. “You know what? No. Why am I the one comforting _you_? You’re the one that left me like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t _nothing_ ,” Aziraphale said under his breath while Crowley continued to speak.

“ _I’m_ the one in the hospital bed. _I’m_ the one that fucking _died_.”

There was dark purpling under Aziraphale’s tired, sunken eyes. “You’re also the one that lived.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you on about?”

“Um… You… They said you were brought in with three other people.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“One of them didn’t make it,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley’s brows furrowed, looking at the window as he tried, but failed, to pull the memory of that night up. After a moment, he turned back to Aziraphale and quietly asked, “Do you know who it was?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not sure. I only overheard parts. Sounded like his name might have been Lee.”

“Oh.” Crowley closed his eyes. He was still hazy on how he ended up in the hospital. Well, he knew he had overdosed, because that’s what he had been _told_ , but he didn’t _remember_ it, exactly. He struggled to figure out how he ended up in a situation with Lee and two other—

 _Fuck_.

“Look,” Crowley said, pained determination on his face and fear in his voice. “I don’t want to owe you any favors, but I can’t… I can’t exactly go find out on my own. Is Dana okay?”

“Dana?”

Crowley’s voice was small and scared. “She’s my friend. I need to know if she’s okay. Please.”

“I know who she is,” Aziraphale said gently, reaching for Crowley’s hand, catching himself just before touching. “I remember her. I just didn’t know she was involved in this, too. I’ll see what I can find out, all right?” He said, standing up to step outside.

Crowley nodded with a worried frown.

Crowley had met Lee and Hal when he first came back to The Inferno. They were Louis’s top-two enforcers. Hal handled the field and Lee took care of upstairs. Louis had introduced them more closely when Crowley started getting invited to the inner circle to try out new products.

Hal Asture was a bastard, Hastur the Bastard, they called him, but he got invited to things because he was loose and free with his stash. He was a right prick, when he was sober, but when he was high, he was a different person. Crowley wouldn’t quite say he was likable when he was stoned, but he laughed more and was maybe a little less likely to put his cigarette out on your arm and more likely to put it in your drink instead. Probably the only person on the entire planet that could stand Hal, sober or high, was his best friend, Lee Gur.

He got on with Lee pretty well, though. But then again, _everybody_ got on with Lee. Likeable guy, really. He seemed nice enough, Crowley thought. Lee had run point when Crowley took his first, and only, client in the Third Circle. He was mostly quiet, but sometimes, if you could get him started, he got really chatty. He liked to talk about his wife and kids, mostly, when it wasn’t some inside joke between himself and Hal. It seemed strange for someone like that to… Well, Crowley wasn’t one to judge. He supposed _everyone_ had _something_ they wanted to forget.

And now he was gone.

Lee was gone, and he left people behind that would miss him. His wife, his kids… Hell, even _Hal_ would miss Lee, Crowley knew.

Crowley had died, too, apparently. If they hadn’t been able to revive him, he wondered, would anybody even miss him? He had people in his life, but just how important was he to anyone, really? He had spent so much time keeping the balance in his ledger, making sure things were even, that he owed no favors and no one owed him. Were the people in his life there simply because he was useful? He had no idea if anyone actually liked _him_ instead of what he _could_ _do_ or _had done_ for them. Was there one person left in all the world that gave enough of a damn about him unconditionally, regardless of a tally mark on a page?

Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale’s watery smile and wet eyes staring back at him.

“The nurses said they couldn’t give me any information, so I left a message for Tracy to call if she knows anything,” Aziraphale said, once more reaching out for Crowley, but not actually touching.

It was too much. _Everything_ was too much right now. Crowley just wanted to sleep.

“Dana is all right. She’s on bedrest, but she’s going to be just fine,” Aziraphale told him. “She’s going to get to go home in a couple of days, she thinks.”

“You saw her?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Tracy called me back. Once I knew what room Dana was in, I went to see her. I, um, I took a video for you.” Aziraphale handed Crowley the phone.

Dana was sitting up in a hospital bed, attached to a few machines, but nowhere near as many as Crowley. “Hi, Crawley! I, uh, I don’t really know what to say right now, but I’m glad you’re not dead.” Dana leaned around to look past the camera, stage-whispering to Aziraphale. “That’s a really weird thing to say. Is it too weird to say that? I mean, it’s true, but it feels strange.”

Off camera, Aziraphale said, “That’s on brand for him, though.”

Dana smiled. “Fair point,” she said, looking back at the camera. “I’ll try to come see you if I can before I leave. I heard you’d be in here a lot longer than me and Hal. He’s in here, too. He and I are going to be fine. Looks like you and Lee got the worst of it.” Dana sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re alive.” She blew a kiss to the camera. “Can you turn it off now?” She whispered to Aziraphale just before the video ended.

“I appreciate you doing that,” Crowley said. “You didn’t have to.”

“Proof of life, and all that,” Aziraphale said, the corner of his lip threatening to quirk upward.

Crowley covered his eyes with one of his hands, nodding as he leaned forward. He felt guilty. He didn’t want _anyone_ to die, but if it had to happen, he was glad it wasn’t Dana. It put a lot into perspective. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he felt the bed dip in front of him and a strong arm wrap around him, pulling him close.

_My Angel._

Crowley took a deep, gasping breath of relief, burying his face in Aziraphale’s left shoulder.

“I can’t handle seeing you like this, or worse. But it’s… It isn’t fair to put this all on me,” Aziraphale said, having had some time to think about things. He still blamed himself, of course, but he had been reading up on everything he could about how best to help someone get past a chemical dependency. In his research, he discovered taking ownership of the problem was one of the most important first steps.

“I didn’t. It isn’t about you, well, I mean…” Crowley growled, rubbing his face. He still felt like Hell, though his mood had slightly improved over the last few days. “I wasn’t _trying_ to… I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. First, I didn’t want to feel anything at all. Then I started to feel something better. I thought if I could just feel _better_ about everything, then I’d be okay, with or without you. It wasn’t… It’s… You didn’t do _all_ of this.”

“But you think I did _some_ ,” Aziraphale looked guiltily at him. It was one thing to want to encourage Crowley, but quite another for Aziraphale to completely absolve himself of his own responsibility in all of it.

“I think what you did to me was _shit_ ,” Crowley pointed his finger at Aziraphale. “But you didn’t have to come. Nobody forced you to show up. But the fact that you’re here, the _only_ one here, mind you…” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he glanced around at all the plants that had accumulated in just over a week that he had been in the room. “You know, I can talk to these plants all day long. Hell, I can _yell_ at them if I want to, but not a damn one of them is going to yell back. They don’t… They’re just plants. A plant instead of a person.” Crowley sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “You know, that’s… That’s all I had left of you when you were gone.” Crowley rolled his head back to face Aziraphale. “Just the plants. Well, what was left of them, anyway.” Crowley couldn’t remember what happened to the strawberries, but he remembered waking up a sticky, filthy, cut up mess with an even worse mess in the floor over a fortnight prior. “ _I_ certainly had a lot to say to them about _you_.”

Aziraphale was unsure whether to feel guilty or endeared by that. He settled for both.

“But now you’re here,” Crowley continued. “You’ve _been_ here every time I’ve woken up since _I’ve_ been here. You’ve slept on that cot every night,” Crowley said, pointing to it. “That tells me that you didn’t mean what you said to me, about never really loving me. You can lie to _yourself_ if you want to, but _I_ _know_ the truth. And you _should_ feel bad about that, about the… Not telling the truth parts.”

Aziraphale looked away, but nodded just enough for Crowley to see it.

“But no, this…“ He gestured to the IV and the hospital bed. “You didn’t do this to me. I did this to myself.”

Aziraphale’s text chime went off. His face grew dark. “I… Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry. This is terrible timing, but I have to go. I don’t want to, though. You’re…” Aziraphale groaned softly. “I thought I had two weeks before I had to go back, but _someone’s_ impatient.” Aziraphale sighed, closing his eyes in defeat. He had requested the time off _before_ , thinking he’d take Crowley on some grand romantic getaway when he got back, both to make up for being gone so long, and to lock themselves in a room and make up for lost time. But, of course, things hadn’t gone to plan at all at the time. Why should he expect this to be any different?

“We have a lot to talk about later,” Aziraphale said. “But for now, I need to go. Work beckons. I’ll return, though.”

“I get it,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked pained.

“No, no,” Crowley said, throwing his hand up in a defensive gesture. “I really mean it, no subtext. You’ve already spent so much time in here. I know you have things that need to be done outside of this hospital room.” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale with raised eyebrows and a firm voice. “Though I’d like to talk to you about _that_ , soon, too.” _Among some other things you keep avoiding when I bring them up,_ he thought.

Aziraphale nodded with a smile, grabbing his bag and heading into the wetroom to change from his lounge pants and long-sleeved t-shirt. He had been staying in the hospital practically as long as Crowley had been there this time, only leaving here and there to run a few errands. “Can I bring you anything when I return?” He asked, sitting down to put his socks and shoes on.

“Yes,” Crowley said. “I want you to bring me some pears.”

“I thought you didn’t like pears,” Aziraphale said, focusing on pulling his socks up.

“I _hate_ pears,” Crowley agreed. “But _you_ like them.”

Aziraphale stopped putting on his shoes long enough to look up at Crowley, his head tilted to the side with a smirk.

“I haven’t seen you eat a single thing since you’ve been here,” Crowley said quietly.

Aziraphale scoffed as he tied his shoes. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not,” Crowley argued. “There hasn’t been anything _to_ imagine.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you. I have to go. I’ll be back later,” Aziraphale said, rushing out of the room.

Crowley, hearing a tune he didn’t recognize, looked up at the tv after Aziraphale left the room.

_You're the one that I've been waiting for  
Gotta quit this crying  
Nobody's gonna heal me if I don't open the door  
Kinda hard to believe (gotta have faith in me)_

Crowley arched an eyebrow as his eyes cut up towards the television. Intrigued, he reached around, searching for the remote speaker to turn up the volume.

_Now it's time to free me from the chain  
I gotta find that peace, is it too late  
Or could this love protect me from the pain?  
I would battle for you (even if I break in two)_

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.” Crowley continued to watch the television, listening incredulously to the lyrics. “Just strum my pain with your fingers, why don’t you?” Deep down, Crowley knew he wasn’t done fighting for Aziraphale. He _said_ he was, but those decisions were made by an incorrect life he no longer maintained.

_Freak out, freak out, freak out, freak out (look at me)  
Get down, get down, get down, get down (look at me)  
Freak out, freak out, freak out, freak out  
Look at me now 'cause all I ever wanted was love_

_  
_Crowley’s jaw dropped with a scandalized gasp at the lyrics. “Why have you come for me so?” _  
  
_

_I don't need a reason (oh)  
Not sorry, I want your stupid love  
I don't need a reason (oh)  
Not sorry, I want your stupid love  
Higher, higher_

“I feel there’s a message here.” He glanced up at the ceiling briefly. “Right,” he said with amused annoyance.

_I want your stupid love, love (oh, oh, woo)  
We got a stupid love, love  
  
_

_“Oh,”_ Crowley said out loud. “We do!” He shouted at the tv excitedly as the concept fully clicked into place. “We are _stupid_ and we love each other,” he said, laughing with joy for the first time in weeks. "Now we just need to fix it."

He quickly flipped the knob to turn the volume down when he heard a knock at his door.

“Good morning, Mr. Crowley,” Dr. Spear greeted.

“Bill!” Crowley said with a surprised smile. “Oh,” his smile drooped upon taking in the doctor’s expression. “I know that face,” Crowley said, shaking his head and scrunching his nose. “That’s not a nice face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't as bad as you think. We're on an upswing, but it's still wobbly. Dr. Spear is here for a warning, not a diagnosis.


	30. Let Us Go, For The Length Of Our Journey Demands It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving the Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:  
> [Mumford And Sons – Little Lion Man ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLJf9qJHR3E)
> 
> Chapter Title from Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy  
>   
> CW: mild violence

“Aziraphale,’ Gabe said as Aziraphale entered his office. “Why have you been spending so much time at that hospital?”

Aziraphale looked surprised. As far as Gabe had known, he had a holiday planned for this time. Why was he tracking him even now? “Um, I’ve been visiting a, a sick friend.”

“Oh? Who is your friend?” Gabe asked.

 _What business is it of yours?_ Aziraphale thought to himself before answering with the first name to spring to mind that was _not_ ‘Crowley.’

“Titania,” he said, his mouth and throat impossibly dry all of the sudden.

“Ah,” Gabe grinned. “Is that whose lipstick was all over y—”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale interrupted, trying to cut off any further conversation about it. “The one and the same.”

“It worked out, then, didn’t it? With Titania in the hospital, you didn’t have to go off on your little trip. It’s good that you’re available. We’ve got to prepare for a meeting tomorrow with a client that needs to be confirmed.” Gabriel explained. “It’s lucky you’re going to be available now.”

Aziraphale smiled wanly. “Such _good_ luck,” he said.

Aziraphale slipped quietly into the hospital room that evening, going straight to shower and change clothes.

Aziraphale walked out of the wetroom, twisting bits of hair between his fingers in the way that Crowley found so endearing. Crowley had almost lost himself in thought when he remembered something.

“I don’t see any pears in this room.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Slipped my mind.”

“Hmm,” Crowley’s eyes narrowed cynically, watching as Aziraphale went to lie down on the cot and close his eyes.

The next morning, Aziraphale was still lying on his cot, reading a book, while Crowley watched cartoons. There was a knock on the door, followed by Dr. Spear poking his head in.

“Ah, the bard himself,” Crowley drawled pleasantly. “Have you come to regale me with more gloomy tales of warning?”

Dr. Spear smirked, glancing over the chart in his hands. “Yes, well, nothing new to report, really, but I wanted to follow up with you on our conversation yesterday.”

“Conversation?” Aziraphale’s face had a worried look. “You didn’t mention anything about—"

“ _Pears_.” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale with a stern look, interrupting him.

Aziraphale closed his mouth and sat back to listen instead.

Dr. Spear glanced between the two of them a few times before continuing. “Overall, your readings and output levels haven’t declined since you’ve been here, but they’re not improving, either. As we discussed, there is some concern regarding your kidney function. Someone should be along shortly to draw some more blood and collect the rest of your urine since we began this yesterday. Depending on the results of your ACR, we may need to do a few more tests to get a good estimate of your GFR. Do you have any questions so far?”

“Hmm,” Crowley thought for a moment. “I… I think maybe I’ll wait to find out what’s next before I go working myself up asking questions and getting answers that will only make me worry. Best to wait. I’ve got plenty to worry over already,” Crowley said, glancing at Aziraphale quickly.

“Actually, um, if you don’t mind, I have a question,” Aziraphale said timidly.

Dr. Spear and Crowley both turned to look at him.

“I don’t understand what those letters mean. What are they?”

“Oh, yes. I explained this to Mr. Crowley yesterday, though he was already aware of the ACR, the albumin-to-creatinine ratio test. These are tests to check for albumin and creatinine in his blood and urine. He was supposed to be coming in regularly for ACR testing, but we haven’t seen him _at all_ this year.” Dr. Spear shot Crowley a reproachful look. “We’re repeating the test today, along with a creatinine clearance test to give us an estimate of GFR, the glomerular filtration rate, to estimate his current kidney function. Depending on what the results are, we may need to move on to the next stage.”

“Which is?” Aziraphale asked.

“A bridge I’m not prepared to cross yet, Aziraphale,” Crowley said calmly but firmly.

“Yes, right, of course,” Aziraphale nodded.

After Dr. Spear left, nurses came to collect samples. Eventually, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves alone in the room once more.

“Aziraphale, can we continue that talk we started yesterday?”

“I—”

“About _us_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley gently confirmed. “But I do want to talk about those other things you’ve been avoiding later, because I think they’re relevant, too.”

“Oh, right, yes. Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed, both scared and excited at the prospect of working out a possible future, _together_ this time. “I rather think we, uh, we _should_ do that, probably.” Aziraphale nervously walked over to sit next to Crowley on the edge of the bed, facing him.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with an open, but fragile, waver of his brow. He pressed his lips together, dimpling his cheek, as he prepared to speak. “I don’t expect you to… Well, I don’t expect this to _change_ anything between us, put it that way. But I want you to know that I’m not done chasing you. Not now, not when I know you lied back then out of some stupid idea that you had the right to decide the course of my life without even consulting me on it. By the way, this is me _consulting_ you. I’m letting you know that this is something I’m planning. I’m not _deciding_ it for you. I’m going to try to get cleaned up, and when that happens…” He sighed, leaning his head back into the pillows and closing his eyes. “When that happens…”

“As I understand it,” Aziraphale reached a shaking hand over to carefully slip underneath a pale, slender hand pierced by an IV line, “it’s best to do that with a support network. I could, I mean, if you wanted, I could possibly try to help. Maybe when you come home, we could—”

Crowley swallowed harshly, his mouth suddenly dry. “I…” He tried to clear his throat, grimacing in pain as he did so. Aziraphale poured water from a pitcher of ice into a cup, poking a straw in it and gently placing the straw into Crowley’s mouth. He took a few careful sips, gasping after he swallowed, and tried to speak again. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now.”

“But you… You just said…” Aziraphale’s voice, scared and remorseful, trailed off as he looked at Crowley with pleading eyes.

The look hit Crowley hard, but he struggled to maintain his resolve. “Ang-, Azi—” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling loudly through his nose. “No, fuck it. _Angel_ ,” he said as he opened his eyes to look at Aziraphale again. “You hurt me _so much more_ than you know."

Crowley could barely believe he was saying this. Aziraphale had actually _expected_ him to come home after he got out of the hospital. It was what Crowley had been wanting for the last seven months, and here he was saying _no_. Perhaps it was an ingrained survival instinct that he stopped himself now. Coming back from the dead tended to put things in perspective, apparently. 

"If that hadn’t happened," Crowley continued, "Maybe… Maybe things would be _different_. But it _did_ happen, and I can’t. I just _can’t_. If you pull that shit on me again, right now, with me like this? It’ll be the end of me.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “We’ve wasted so much time,” he lamented.

“And you have to live with that,” Crowley said quietly. “And I’m going to forgive you for it. I _am_. I’ll forgive you for _all_ of it. But I’m not ready. I, uh, I thought I was, but I’m not. It’s near-killing me, literally. If you pulled another stunt like that, if I leave here like, like I am _right now_ , I… I don’t think I’d survive it. I can’t take another hit like that, not yet.”

Aziraphale, face turned downward in shame, looked away.

“That’s not guilt. It’s fact. I’m not okay and I know it. That part’s on me.” Crowley took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. “How I handled it. That’s _all_ me. And there’s just enough of me that wants to hang on telling me that I need some time, no matter how much I want to throw myself at you now. And I do. Oh, I _do_. I never stopped… L…loving you, that is. Even when I hated you. Well, I didn’t really _hate_ you, but I was really, properly angry with you.” A tear fell down his cheek as his breath hitched. “But I never stopped wanting you. This isn’t a rejection. It’s… I…“ He growled with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know how to say what I mean.”

Aziraphale squeezed the hand in his own. “Everything’s changed, and now _I’m_ going too fast for _you_ ,” he said quietly, understanding.

Crowley nodded, relief spreading across his face. “I suppose what I mean to say is, I’m willing to fight for us. But if there’s _any_ chance of working this out, I need to know that we’re _both_ going to be here for it. All I can do is make sure _I_ am, and hope you can figure that out, too. I’m not there yet, but I’m… I’m going to find a way to _get_ there.”

Gabe had set the meeting with the client that evening to discuss possible publishing options. This client had been difficult to please, but Gabe had made it his personal mission to land her.

The meeting had not been going well.

“I don’t think this is what I’m looking for,” she said, standing up.

“It’s a great plan!” Gabe repeated, stepping between the client and the door. “It’s the entire reason you chose to come to Vox Dei with your manuscript.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable she looked as Gabe leaned against the table to completely cut off her exit.

“Um,” Aziraphale cleared his throat nervously. “Excuse me.”

“Aziraphale, if you could just…” Gabe pinched his fingers together indicating Aziraphale should be quiet.

“You keep talking about this plan,” Aziraphale continued, ignoring the way Gabe rolled his eyes. Aziraphale tapped at the track pad on his laptop. “But have you considered some of these alternatives?” Aziraphale pulled up a new screen, turning it to the client.

“Oh, I do like that one,” she said, pointing to the left of the screen. “You should have led with this one, Mr. Herold. I would have already signed. I don’t really _want_ to tour. I just want to publish my book.” She turned to Aziraphale. “You’re going to give this one a run for his money,” she said, turning back towards Gabe. “You could learn a thing or two from Mr. Fell.”

_Oh, **no**._

Aziraphale watched with growing dread as Gabe fixed her with his trademark phony smile, statue-still eyes and forehead, all teeth and curves from the cheekbones down.

After the client left, Aziraphale turned, hoping to be quick enough to follow when he felt a painful grip on his right arm. He fought not to cry out when Gabe jerked hard, spinning him around. Aziraphale tripped on his chair as Gabriel forced him quickly backwards into the floor, never letting go.

“Get up,” Gabe sneered, bent over while still holding on to him to yank him up by the same arm as Aziraphale struggled to get back on his feet.

When Azriaphale’s back met the wall, he kept his head turned away and his eyes squeezed lightly shut, just like every other time. It was usually easier this way, to just let Gabe wear himself down. Or, at least, it _had_ been easier before, back when Aziraphale just avoided Gabe other than at certain family events. It wasn’t necessarily _rare_ that Gabe would get rough with Aziraphale, but Gabe wasn’t stupid. He was careful never to leave any marks on Aziraphale’s face, and he _never_ did anything when other people were around. Gabe especially wouldn’t do anything near his father, and had always seemed a bit intimidated by Michael. After a few years, Aziraphale realized as long as he stayed away, or stayed close to Michael or Enoch, he would be okay, most of the time. Aziraphale was terrified that Gabe might do something in front of his mother. He worried that she might try to intervene and get hurt. Aziraphale had gradually stopped coming around to see his mother as a result.

But that was how it was in the past. It was _different_ now. Gabe had grown more comfortable with having easy access to Aziraphale when no one else was around, as well as having reason and means to find or summon him any time he wanted. He had done more to Aziraphale in the past two months than in the previous twenty years. Aziraphale was a nervous wreck. He never knew what was going to set Gabe off. It was different every time. Aziraphale lost his appetite and barely ate enough to keep going. Between his time with Gabe and the stress over Crowley being back in the hospital again, he was exhausted, compounded by all the weight he had lost entirely too quickly to be healthy. Of course, that actually pleased Gabe, thinking Aziraphale was taking his advice to lose weight seriously. It was a mixed blessing, really. Aziraphale imagined he probably had saved himself a few _reminders_ as a result.

Aziraphale had not slept properly in quite some time. He was constantly stressed, and had been having repeated nightmares involving Gabe. Sometimes they were about himself, but mostly they were about Crowley and all of the things he was afraid might happen to him. He had played off his wakefulness as an uncomfortable hospital cot, but he knew Crowley was suspicious.

But even with all of this verbal, psychological, and physical abuse, Aziraphale thought it would be worth it once Gabe went back to the states. He would trudge on through to get to the other side, because that was the side where Crowley was waiting for him, sort of. Crowley had said he wasn’t ready, but he was working on it. They both needed time to get to where they needed to be, and it was going to be okay. This time, it was different, because Aziraphale wasn’t pushing Crowley away anymore. He would endure all of it to make sure he could keep Gabe away from Crowley.

Crowley was worth it. It was the one thought that kept him going. That, and weekly calls to his therapist. He hadn’t mentioned any of this part to her yet. Aziraphale had made the decision to seek out counseling, even after multiple suggestions by Raphael and Michael, only after deciding to go to work for Enoch. He figured he would need it, working around Gabe. And he was right, but he was still drumming up the courage to actually _discuss_ important things with her. She knew about the past, mostly in generic snapshot descriptions without very much specific detail. He had touched on a few of the events leading up to the Armageddon book tour, but he hadn’t had enough time alone to feel safe enough to attempt to discuss anything about Gabe or Crowley while he was actually _on_ the tour and constantly within earshot.

Most of his sessions had been 15-minute calls when Gabe had been in meetings where Aziraphale was supposed to be getting other business done. He’d make the call while working on his laptop, back against a wall and constantly monitoring his surroundings in his peripheral vision, and the occasional email from a private account he created specifically for that purpose. Still, he couldn’t risk any details about any of the people in his life, and instead discussed other random things that didn’t really matter or solve issues, but brought him comfort just knowing he had _some_ form of outlet at all. Aziraphale was building a rapport, he had decided.

But now he was back home, and would be able to actually go into her office soon and talk face-to-face where no one else could overhear. He wondered if he would have the courage to tell her what was really happening.

Gabe’s voice was frightfully calm. “I’m _really_ getting tired of you making me remind you, Aziraphale.”

“I was only trying to help.”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,” Gabe said with a chilling stillness. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, his voice barely audible.

“When I tell you to be quiet,” Gabe paused, letting his words sink into Aziraphale’s mind while his fingertips tightened against Aziraphale’s arm, _“That’s_ what you do.”

Aziraphale nodded.

Gabe leaned in to near-whisper. “What possessed you to think it was okay to show me up in front of the client?” Gabe held his grip firmly, digging his thumb in hard above Aziraphale’s right elbow.

Aziraphale said nothing, keeping his eyes closed tight.

“Answer me!” Gabriel shouted in his ear, causing Aziraphale to flinch.

“Well… I… I think the greater good—"

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine,” Gabe growled, towering over Aziraphale, who had been literally backed into a corner. “I’m _Gabriel fucking Herold_ , and as long as you’re on the Vox Dei payroll, I **_own_** you and _everything_ you do.” Gabe pushed against Aziraphale’s elbow sharply, shoving his right shoulder hard against the wall before he yanked his hand back, causing Aziraphale to stumble against the table. Aziraphale tried to catch himself, knocking the water pitcher and paperwork into the floor. “You’re such a pathetic disaster. I can’t even _look_ at you right now.” Gabe pointed a finger at Aziraphale. “You’re _lucky_ you’re family. Clean up the rest of this mess you made. I’ve gotta go work off some of this stress you’ve caused me.” Gabe slammed the door on his way out.

Aziraphale slid the rest of the way down the wall of the conference room to sit in the floor, knees up, head in hands.

“There’s no way I can make this work. He’s never going to leave me alone, no matter _what_ I do.” Aziraphale sighed heavily, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’ll just… I’ll let Enoch know that I’m not cut out for this job after all.”

Aziraphale crawled over to pick up the paperwork with his left hand and wipe up the spilled water. He thought about places he might be able to go to escape and start over, and wondered if it would be fair to try to convince Crowley to come with him, even after everything he had said.

After several minutes, Aziraphale went out to his car. His mind was going in multiple directions, trying to figure things out. He turned the key, not quite engaging the engine, but enough to turn on the electric system.

_Weep for yourself, my man,  
You'll never be what is in your heart  
Weep little lion man,  
You're not as brave as you were at the start_

“I’ve tried so hard, but it only gets harder,” Aziraphale said plaintively to the radio.

_  
Rate yourself and rake yourself,  
Take all the courage you have left  
Wasted on fixing all the problems  
that you made in your own head_

“I _thought_ I knew what to do. I’m so tired,” he leaned his head back against the headrest in defeat.

_But it was not your fault but mine  
And it was your heart on the line  
I really fucked it up this time  
Didn't I, my dear?  
Didn't I, my dear?_

“It wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to _be_ like this. I know, I keep saying that, but…” Aziraphale sighed, looking at the radio _._ “I thought I was doing the _right_ thing. I truly did.”

_Tremble for yourself, my man,  
You know that you have seen this all before_

Aziraphale nodded dejectedly.

_  
Tremble little lion man,  
You'll never settle any of your scores_

“I don’t even care about that, though. I can’t change the past.” His voice wavered.

  
_Your grace is wasted in your face,  
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck_

“I just… I just wanted a future. I just wanted to live my own life.”

_  
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck_

“It’s all so impossible,” Aziraphale realized sadly.

_But it was not your fault but mine  
And it was your heart on the line_

Aziraphale held his face in his hands. “I _really_ fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear?”

_Didn't I, my dear?_

Aziraphale waited until he thought Crowley would be asleep before returning to the hospital. He crept in quietly, changed into his sleep clothes, and climbed into his cot to lie in the low light, watching Crowley sleep.

Aziraphale pretended to be asleep the next morning, lying on the cot facing away from Crowley. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say or how to bring up the topic. Instead, he tried to enjoy just being in the same room with Crowley, knowing he was within reach, at least for the moment.

When eventually it grew too late in the day to effectively pretend to sleep without being in the way, he made an excuse to leave so he could think.

Aziraphale took a stroll about the hospital, making his way to the cafeteria. He wondered if a cup of tea might help to soothe him. The tea tasted bitter in his mouth, but he drank it anyway.

He thought about what he needed to do now. He worked on a plan, remembering things Crowley had said to him in the past. “I can do this,” Aziraphale told himself, staring into his tea cup. “It could be a good thing, starting over. I’ve done it before, broadly. But this time, I don’t really have to _hide_ as much as just… _Disappear_ , I suppose.” He wondered how that was different.

Was it fair, he wondered, to ask this of Crowley? To ask him to go off with him, knowing that when Crowley had suggested the same thing, Aziraphale himself had declined each time? More than that, was it fair to ask it of him when Crowley had only yesterday told him he wasn’t ready to get back together?

Aziraphale knew he would be leaving no matter what. But he was doing the right thing, now, wasn’t he? He was going to give Crowley the knowledge he needed to make his own choice, an _informed_ choice, mostly. Crowley could use that information and decide for himself if he wanted to follow in whatever capacity.

Still, Aziraphale wasn’t sure it was wise to tell Crowley _everything_ yet, not while they were still in London. But if Crowley decided to come with him to wherever it was they ended up, somewhere far enough away, Aziraphale could then explain the bruises without worrying that Crowley would be directly in harm’s way trying to find Gabe himself.

Aziraphale steeled himself for the conversation he was about to have. He needed to stop waiting and get it over with.

Aziraphale noticed two people, a man in a sleek black suit, and a younger man in a dark blue scarf leaving Crowley’s room and walking in the opposite direction.

Aziraphale knocked gently, opening the door slowly. “Crowley?”

“Perfect timing, Angel,” Crowley said, motioning for him to come in. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Yes, well, I rather think I need to speak with you as well,” Aziraphale said with determination, closing the door behind him.

Crowley looked more serious than Aziraphale had ever seen him. He looked Aziraphale over from head to toe, as if trying to memorize him all over again. He gave a quick, pained smile before he began to speak. “I’m going to have to make some changes.”

Aziraphale pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down, carefully leaning to avoid putting pressure against the fresh bruising on his right side. “What sort of changes?”

“Do you remember when I was telling you that I would need to find a way to get better, to, to get cleaned up?”

Aziraphale nodded, listening intently.

“I’ve found it,” Crowley said quietly, chewing on his thumb. “And I’m, I think it’s a, it,” Crowley struggled, looking at the ceiling with a sigh. “It’s a _good_ decision.”

Aziraphale saw the look of fear Crowley was trying to hide. “You know I’ll support anything you choose to do, don’t you? You needn’t worry.”

Crowley nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening his eyes again to meet Aziraphale’s own before he began to speak with determination. “I’m giving you an out. This is your opportunity to leave, Aziraphale. If you really want or need to walk away, that time is _now_ , while I’m in here and can’t do any more damage until I get out. Plus, as long as I’m on one of these bags here,” Crowley pointed to his IV, “I’ll have plenty enough hydration to cry,” Crowley offered a wobbly, lopsided grin.

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. “Crowley—”

“No, you’re going to _listen_ to me, Aziraphale. I’m not saying you have any control over what I do, but I _am_ saying that if I’m in a position with no fucks left to give, I’m going to need help to go and harvest more fucks right up to keep me going.” Crowley’s eyebrows lifted in a grin, though it was abundantly clear to anyone who saw it that the expression was a forced emulation of being okay.

Aziraphale’s lip quirked slightly as Crowley tried to coax a smile out of him with his own expression.

Crowley continued. “They’ll do that while I’m still in here, hooked up to all these blasted machines that go ding if there’s stuff. And they’ll do that at the treatment center.”

“Treatment center? What do you mean?”

“I, uh, I had a conversation with some people while you were out. The hospital has a treatment center for addiction and recovery. Not just chemical, either. There’s, um, they talk to you and help you figure out how to keep your head above water.” Crowley chewed his bottom lip while looking away. “Angel, I’m in here because I overdosed, and I overdosed because I’ve been making a series of bad decisions for the past two months. Longer, really, but it got a bit out of control recently.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale didn’t know how to continue that sentence, so he let it hang there. He had been doing that quite a bit lately.

“I need to learn how to handle things better,” Crowley spoke softly, fear tinging the edges of the manufactured confidence he tried to broadcast. “Once I let you in, I fell apart when you were gone. That’s, that’s not… That’s too much to put on any one person. I can’t give up that much control over my life. That’s not who I am. I’ve got to find balance between shutting everyone out and letting you in, one that doesn’t end at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey or pills when things don’t go according to plan.” Crowley tilted his head to the side, eyebrows lifting slightly, as he regarded the look on Aziraphale’s face. “I can’t even take _ibuprofen_ right now without risking dialysis, or maybe even worse, depending on how things go. And let’s be real here. Even if I were to _survive_ another situation like this, _nobody_ is going to give someone like _me_ a kidney.”

“I would,” Aziraphale said without hesitation, reaching for Crowley’s hand.

“Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” Crowley groaned softly, covering his eyes with one hand while squeezing Aziraphale’s hand with his other. “Appreciate it, but I’d really rather not get to that point. I, uh, I figure I’ll be in here at least another week or so, but after that, I’ll go straight to the treatment center for however long that takes.”

“But _that_ isn’t going to be a week or two, is it,” Aziraphale asked, dreading that he already knew the answer.

“No, they said it could be a month or more.” Crowley lowered his hand from his eyes to look at Aziraphale in fearful determination. “Gotta make sure that when I leave, I don’t end up right back there, or here, or…” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he looked away, thinking about Lee. “So,” he sniffed and cleared his throat, “If you’re going to walk away again, you’re gonna need to do it now, while I’ve got a plan.”

Aziraphale had every intention of being as far away from London as he could reasonably get within a fortnight. There was no way he was going to be able to ask Crowley to come with him now, not when Crowley’s hospital stay was going to be extended over a month past. He had already put Crowley through so much. _You’re going into rehab because of me_ , Aziraphale thought. _It’s all my fault. I did this to you. Gabe’s right. I’m a pathetic disaster, and I ruin everything. I can’t be what keeps you from recovering… From me._

Well, there it was. This was it. Aziraphale sighed. This was goodbye. Aziraphale took comfort, small as it was, in the fact that _this_ time, Crowley would be in a place where he could heal.

“Crowley, I—"

Aziraphale’s text tone chimed three times in a row. He immediately stopped everything he was doing to check it, to make sure it wasn’t Gabe. He _definitely_ didn’t want Gabe to get cross enough to show up at the hospital.

It wasn’t Gabe, but Enoch’s messages might have been work-related enough to have ended in a visit from Gabe regardless.

> **We have a  
>  problem.  
>  Come to the  
>  house.  
>  Need you here  
>  NOW.**
> 
> **I’m afraid I’m  
>  a bit busy at the  
>  moment.  
>  What appears to  
>  be the problem?**
> 
> **Emergency.  
>  Get here ASAP!  
>  Do not dawdle!**

“Everything all right over there, Angel?” Crowley asked with concern.

“Uh… I, I don’t know, actually. My step-father just told me to come to the house. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.”

“You know, I think I’m all talked out anyway. You go on and take care of things, Angel. I’m going to try to get some rest. But think about what I’ve said.”

Aziraphale nodded with a smile and a gentle kiss to Crowley’s knuckles in an attempt to keep himself together. “I _will_ be back to finish this conversation when I can. I _promise_.”

“Aziraphale, I know it’s a lot to ask as you’re still learning the ropes,” Enoch said, sitting down at his desk across from him, “But I’m going to need you to step up and take on some more responsibility, at least for a while.”

“This really isn’t a good time,” Aziraphale said, nervously. He was barely keeping himself afloat now, trying to split his time between keeping Gabe distracted while Aziraphale stayed at the hospital with Crowley. It was a mixed blessing that he had been shutting others out of his life so much lately that he only had those two things to juggle, especially now that he was planning to quit and leave. Aziraphale wanted a little more time with Crowley before he left, and he wasn’t about to let a job he couldn’t even keep get in the way.

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Enoch said. “I’m going to be taking on more of Gabe’s responsibilities for the foreseeable future.”

“I thought that was Sandy’s job,” Aziraphale remarked. “He and Gabe handled—”

“His responsibilities have been split up amongst his own team,” Enoch interrupted. “Now, I’ve postponed anything that hasn’t been confirmed, but we do have some existing business to take care of. I’ll need you to take over for me to handle the London area starting next week.”

Something _was_ wrong. “Has something happened?”

“Your mother and I will explain once she and Michael get here.”

“What do _they_ have to do with the company?”

Enoch handed him a tumbler of scotch. “Let’s just wait for your mother and Michael.”

Aziraphale had planned to try to work out at least another week to help prior to quitting the publishing company while coming up with ideas, giving him the next week to pack and store his things until he had a more concrete plan in place. If Enoch wanted him to work _more_ hours with more _responsibility_ , he was just going to have to nip that in the bud.

“Actually, while we’re waiting, there _is_ something I needed to discuss with you, a, about work.”

“Whatever it is, Aziraphale, we’ll discuss it later.”

“I don’t think this will wait, not for very long.”

“Aziraphale, I _can’t_.” Enoch turned the desk lamp on as he fidgeted with the papers across his desk. “I really can’t. I need to focus on the current problem right now.”

With the extra light, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how much more tired Enoch looked than normal. The whites of his eyes were tinged pink. The dark bags underneath his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept well, if at all.

Aziraphale decided to let the matter drop for now and wait to find out what was going on. He looked up as his mother and sister entered the room. Michael sat down next to Aziraphale, and their mother sat on the arm of Enoch’s chair, leaning over to place her hand on his opposite shoulder protectively.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “Why are we here? Where’s Gabe?”

Enoch sighed heavily. “Gabe’s been arrested.”

“What?” Michael near shouted.

“Alexander, too," Enoch added.

“Alexander?” Michael asked.

“Sandy,” Aziraphale leaned towards Michael to answer, quietly in shock.

“He, um, last night they…” Enoch leaned his head into his hands, breathing deeply as Gia rubbed soothing circles against his back. “They, um…”

“They hurt someone, well, two people, very badly,” Gia said softly when Enoch couldn’t.

“Was there an accident?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale remained quiet, with a growing look of guilt on his face.

Gia shook her head. “No. When we got the call last night, Gabe was so out of it he barely recognized us.” She leaned down to press a kiss against the top of her husband’s head when he covered his face with his hands. “But, no, it wasn’t an accident,” she said, looking away.

 _I did this_ , Aziraphale thought. _Gabe was mad at **me**. Yet another person, no, not one. Two people. **Two** of them were hurt in my stead. I don’t even know if I’ve ever met them._

“Aziraphale, are you listening?” Gia said, noticing the far-away look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Oh, I… So sorry. Um,” Aziraphale fidgeted, trying to come up with a good enough cover. “It’s all… It’s a bit of a, a shock,” he somehow managed to stammer out. _Shock? This is no shock. I know what kind of monster Gabe is. I’ve known for decades._ He shook his head, shrugging slightly without realizing it. _What’s another lie right to my own mother’s face? I’ve already lost count now_ , he thought.

Aziraphale left his mother’s house in a daze. _I know that it’s my fault for winding him up and setting him loose. But he’s… He’s locked up, for now. It probably wouldn’t be long for just one person._ But Aziraphale knew Gabe might not even _be_ locked up _at all_ for just hurting one person. Aziraphale was painfully aware of how lax the laws were on this, no matter what television and media liked to portray. Gabe would probably have gotten a few months, or some sort of community service punishment instead and Enoch could have bailed him out and brought him home. _But it hadn't **just** been one person. But that doesn't really make too much of a difference by itself, _Aziraphale thought. _No, it had to be worse than that for him not to be here now._ Maybe Aziraphale would be lucky and—

“ _No_ ,” Aziraphale admonished himself, his guilt spiking. “Stop hoping for something bad to happen to someone else.”

 _But_ , he thought, _what’s already happened cannot be changed._ And what had already happened, whatever it was, was at least good enough, or _bad_ enough, as it were, to keep Gabe occupied for the ‘ _foreseeable future_ ,’ according to Enoch.

Aziraphale stopped on his way back to the hospital to pick up two tarts, one apple, and one pear.


	31. Remember This Night, For It Is The Beginning Of Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past, the present, and the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief description, though not at all graphic, of injuries sustained in recent chapters.

Aziraphale crept into the hospital room, paper bag in his hand. He placed the bag on the tray table in front of Crowley, then went to the wet room to change into his comfortable clothes.

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “This is too light to be pears,” he said to no one in particular, lifting the bag to open it. He pulled out a wrapped item marked _apple_. He smiled brightly when he saw the second item was marked _pear_.

When Aziraphale came out of the wet room, Crowley was smiling so intensely at him that Aziraphale was a little intimidated. “What’s that look for?” He asked.

“We have tarts!” Crowley’s smile was becoming contagious.

“Felt like celebrating,” Aziraphale said. “Sort of.” He sat on the edge of the bed in front of Crowley, taking the offered fork and the pear tart in hand. He watched as Crowley opened his treat, sticking his fork in to spear an apple into his mouth.

“It’s good,” Crowley said, words wrapped around the slice of apple in his mouth. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, chewing with an eager expression.

Aziraphale looked between the tart and Crowley. He definitely wanted the tart. _I like pears_ , he thought. _This should be easier._ But he had already gone so long on practically nothing. He had some concerns, but the look on Crowley’s face helped to wash them away. He stuck the fork in, scooping up a bit of tart and bringing it to his lips. There was almost a tangible force pulling at his hand, trying to stop him from reaching his mouth.

He had been barely surviving on little more than liquids for quite some time. He knew he couldn’t sustain that behavior forever, that it wouldn’t last, but _knowing_ something and _understanding_ it weren’t necessarily the same thing. He _wanted_ to eat this bite, but it was difficult to get past the mental barriers that had already taken hold.

Finally, he somehow managed to bring the fork to his lips, placing the bit of pastry and fruit inside. It was sweet, almost cloyingly so, but Aziraphale knew that was mostly due to not having had anything sweet in so long. He chewed slowly before swallowing.

The look on Crowley’s face spurned him on to take another bite. This one wasn’t nearly as difficult. He thought perhaps he tasted butter in the crust. He hadn’t had butter in a very long time. It was so rich. The second bite was followed by a third and a fourth, ending on a fifth note.

“I’m afraid I’m quite full,” Aziraphale said, wiping his face with a napkin and wrapping up the rest of the tart to place back into the bag. “It was quite rich. I couldn’t take another bite.”

“That’s all right, Angel. You did good. You don’t want to overdo it right away,” Crowley said kindly. “Thank you for eating something.” Crowley tucked back into his own tart, taking a large bite. “So, what are we celebrating?” He asked around a chunk of apple.

Aziraphale proceeded to explain almost everything, from his plan, to taking a job with his Stepfather, all the way up to the attack the night before.

Aziraphale told Crowley everything _except_ for what Gabe had done to _him_.

Aziraphale just wasn’t ready for that yet.

“So, have you thought about what I said?” Crowley asked later. “About taking the out?"

“I rather think I’m _done_ walking away from you,” Aziraphale said with resolve.

Crowley sighed, leaning back against his pillows. He turned his head slightly, eyes still closed, and thought for a moment. “Angel,” Crowley said quietly, opening his eyes and training them on Aziraphale. “If you mean that, if you really properly _mean_ that, we can’t have any more secrets between us, not about big stuff like…” His voice trailed off.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, of course. I agree. My therapist said the same thing, actually.” It was a small, thing, really, a bruise. Wasn’t it?

Crowley sat up a little bit straighter, his face taking on a look of surprise. “Your _therapist_?”

“Eh,” Aziraphale nodded weakly, waving the hand that wasn’t holding onto Crowley. “Raphael suggested it, as did Michael, but it wasn’t until I truly realized how much I had been hurting you, and decided to go to work for my stepfather, that I made my first appointment. That was right, right after, well—”

“Not long before Gabe almost caught us.”

Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “How did—"

“That was when you acted like you wanted us to get back together, then kicked me out of your bed, as far as I knew. And then suddenly you were sending me flowers and gifts, and every one of them was thoughtful and made me feel special, like you were really making an effort. I figure that might have had something to do with it, now that I know, anyway.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I should have handled that better, the night Gabe stopped by, the book tour, all of it. I’m so sorry.”

“We both… We _both_ fucked up,” Crowley admitted. “That was a lot of misunderstanding on both of our parts.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you about changing jobs, too. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m considerably less angry about you taking a job around that wanker, knowing it was a step towards this… _Whatever_ it is we’re doing now.”

Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt about not telling Crowley what Gabe had been doing, but it was smothered by hope. “So, we… are? Doing… _Something_?”

Crowley sighed. “I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen. I do know I love you, but I need to figure out how to do that in a way that I can handle. I, uh, I’m glad you’re already, you know, talking to someone. I was going to ask you to do that. Talk to someone, I mean. I’ve actually, um, since you’ve been back to work, these last few days, someone has come by to talk with me a few times, and I, uh…” Crowley was struggling with his words. He was discovering it was a lot harder to say things when he wasn’t so angry. “I think it’s going to help. And I think that we _both_ need it.” Crowley looked Aziraphale directly in the eye. “And I’m not going to try to work things out with you if you stop going. I need you to _know_ that. I’m not willing to go through all of this again.” He sighed heavily. “I’m done. I don’t _want_ anybody else, and I’m done looking. You’re my pigeon, or penguin, or whatever it is that mates for life. I don’t know.”

“Ducks?” Aziraphale offered helpfully. Most roads led to ducks when it came to one of Crowley’s waterfowl tangents.

“No, I know it’s _not_ ducks. Ducks are a bit whorish, actually. They change up partners every season. And then there's the whole triad situation, and–"

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.

“I mean, that’s _fine_ for those that enjoy that, but that’s not _me_. Do geese? Oh! Swan. You’re my swan. My brilliant, graceful, strong-honking-terror of a swan. But I don’t think either of us knows what the fuck an _actual_ healthy relationship is supposed to be. If you’re not willing to learn, I’m not going to be able to, to stick around to find out. And I hope you hold me to that, too.” Crowley watched Aziraphale's expression, silently pleading for him to agree and to _want_ it as much as he did.

“I think I can do that,” Aziraphale nodded, squeezing Crowley’s hand in his own.

“Are you all right, Angel?” Crowley asked, concern clouding his face as he watched Aziraphale end his phone call.

“I… I need to step out for a moment,” Aziraphale said. “Do you need anything?”

 _For you to tell me what’s wrong_ , Crowley thought. “No,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled politely and slipped through the door. He went out to find a quiet, secluded place to react to the news he had just received from his mother about the victims of Gabe and Sandy’s latest attack.

 _I prayed for an escape and now_ … Aziraphale shook his head in an attempt to banish the invasive thoughts. _No. Maybe. I don’t know. I…_

“No,” he said out loud, pushing his hands downward to reinforce his words as he argued with himself. “They didn’t die because I prayed.”

_But they **are** dead **because** of me. It’s **still** my fault. I made Gabe angry. They would still be alive now if I hadn't done that. I **knew** better than to suggest anything in front of a client, but I did it anyway because I could tell she was uncomfortable. I should have come up with something else to distract him. _

“ _I_ did this.”

_Did I do this?_

Aziraphale pulled out his phone to return the call he had been avoiding for the last few days.

“Hello, Maud? This is Aziraphale. I’m so glad I caught you. Do you have a moment?”

There was a knock at the door.

"Coo-ee, Mr. Crowley!" Tracy called, opening the door a crack.

"Tracy! Come in!" Crowley smiled.

The door opened. Tracy entered the room, backside first, acting as both caboose and engine of the Jezebel train as she pulled a wheelchair into the room. Turned around in the chair to point towards the bed, Dana waved meekly at Crowley.

Tracy looked at Aziraphale. "I am dying for a nice cup of tea. Care to join me?" She winked at him. "Give these two a chance to catch up?"

Aziraphale nodded, offering his arm to Tracy. They left the room together, closing the door behind them.

“What happened to you?” Crowley asked, surprised by the cast on one foot and the longer cast on the other foot and leg.

“What happened to me? What do you mean?” Dana looked at him incredulously. “You were there. Well, at first, anyway. You _know_ what happened.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Crowley replied, wide eyed and confused. “I don’t remember any of it. Got a lot of missing bits, on, um, on account of the… Something about why I was in a coma. It’s probably complicated. Anyway, I don’t know what happened. Can you tell me?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“Not a bit. I only guessed that you were involved somehow because where trouble goes, you follow. I’m surprised, though. I thought pills weren’t really your scene.”

“I was curious. You and I split one.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide in shock. “ _That’s_ all it took?”

Dana leaned in her wheelchair to peek at the door, then leaned in towards Crowley to whisper. “Louis said there was something wrong with them. Said it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“Half of a pill took down all four of us?”

“Oh, Hal and Lee had more. Hal wasn’t as bad off as you and Lee, but he was in bad shape by the time the rest of the paramedics showed up for all of you. It didn’t go too well when he found out Lee died, either. Fucked him up. When Hal got discharged, or whatever it is, he went straight to the rehab ward.”

“Hal’s in rehab?”

“Yeah. Louis suggested it to him. He’s holding all of our jobs, and paying for anything we need that isn’t covered.”

“Louis suggested rehab to me, too,” Crowley said, looking away guiltily. “He was pretty mad about what housekeeping found in my room.”

“Yeah, he asked me about that,” Dana kept looking towards the door. “Louis, I mean. He asked me if I _knew_ you had been getting other stuff, or that you were already sick the first time he came by the hospital. You were still out of it, then, in the coma, I guess. I told him the truth. I had no idea.”

“I wasn’t _sick_ ,” Crowley said.

Dana looked around to all the wires and tubes taped to Crowley’s arm and running out from beneath his blanket, then back up to Crowley with pitying eyes. “You weren’t _well_. Why didn’t you _tell_ us?”

“You would have treated me differently,” Crowley said, which was, technically, _true_. The motive, however, was more self-destructive.

“Of course we would have! Louis wouldn’t have let you have _any_ of it, and I damn sure wouldn’t have offered to split something with you to try it.”

“Maybe that’s _why_ I didn’t say anything,” Crowley mumbled, looking away. “And you know, I didn’t get it _all_ from him, anyway. He couldn’t have stopped me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dana said softly. “But I’m sorry I didn’t try to stop you, either.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, Dana.” Crowley sighed, leaning back against his pillows. “A few people tried, actually. Well, the drinking, anyway. They didn’t know about the rest of it.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t listening to _anyone_ , not when it came to all of that. Not even myself.”

Dana reached out to squeeze his hand. “Does your angel know? I don’t want to accidentally let something slip,” she said, glancing towards the door again. "I asked Tracy to make an excuse to get him out of here so we could talk."

“Oh, yeah, yeah, don’t worry about that. He knows. Well, he does _now_ , anyway.” Crowley snorted. “He _yelled_ at me, not long after I came out of the coma. Got so loud security was called into the room and everything.”

Dana’s eyes practically twinkled. “No! He didn’t!”

Crowley nodded with a grin. “Yeah. But he wasn’t wrong, you know? I fucked up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dana said again.

“Actually, I should be apologizing to _you_ ,” Crowley said.

“For what? You didn’t do anything to me,” Dana said, confused.

“For getting you mixed up in that. If I hadn’t agreed to split—”

“ _Agreed_ ,” Dana quickly repeated. “You _agreed_ to because I _asked_ you first. It was a pill, not a souffle. I could have split it with or without you there and it would have kept just fine.” She sat a bit taller in her wheelchair. “I don’t do _anything_ I don’t want to do. You know that.”

Crowley considered that, nodding in agreement. Dana was right. She was no pushover. She made her own decisions just fine.

“And besides,” She continued. “Hal and I, we’re really all right, physically, anyway.”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted as his eyes darted between Dana’s face and her legs.

“I mean like, _internally_. From of the _pill_ , Crowley. I don’t quite know all the details for Hal, but they pumped my stomach and that probably made a difference.” Dana shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t OD. The only reason I’ve still been here is this,” She said, pointing to her legs. “Although they decided to keep me for observation a little longer just in case there were side effects or reactions or something. Otherwise, I probably would have been out in a day or two, just like Hal.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side, focusing heavily on the casts, wondering if she’d notice if he drew something inappropriate on one. “How _did_ you do that, anyway?”

Dana looked embarrassed. “I tried to climb down the outside of the stairs, thinking I might be able to fly the rest of the way down,” she explained, sheepishly. “I fell and broke this leg and this foot,” she pointed to her left leg and her right foot.

“Why?”

Dana scoffed. “Well, I can’t _actually_ _fly_ , now, can I?”

Crowley looked at her in disbelief. “Dana, you fucking _weapon_. ‘Course I know you can’t really fly. I meant why were you trying to climb down the outside of the stairs instead of _walking_ down them?”

“I don’t want to say,” Dana mumbled, looking off to the side.

“Oh, please? Now I absolutely _must_ know why,” Crowley begged.

Dana glared at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Fine,” she said in a groaning sigh. “I was worried I’d fall and break my leg if I tried to walk down the stairs.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t exactly my best moment.” She eyed him up and down, nodding to his monitors. “Nor was it _yours_.”

His lip curled into a sarcastic sneer as he shook his head. “Point taken, but between the two of us, you’re the one that almost won a Darwin Award, or at least an honourable mention.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Dana said quietly.

Noticing the change in her demeanor, Crowley leaned closer once more. “What for?”

“While they were fussing about with me, you just kind of _fell_. You were _there_ , walking, if you can call what you do _walking_ ,” Dana explained, “And then you went down to your knees and started crawling until you just… You just _stopped_. Then you were on the ground. I remember hearing them say you weren’t breathing.” Dana offered him a look of compassion.

“Oh,” Crowley said, somewhat overwhelmed.

“It’s a little bit blurry for me, too, after that. But I remember that part, where they swarmed around you doing that whole CPR thing, trying to get you to wake up. Then Lee went down and Hal just started screaming. That’s when another ambulance showed up. You and Lee got loaded up into both of them, and another one showed up for me. I didn’t see what happened with Hal after that, but I know he ended up here, too.”

Crowley decided to go for a walk up and down the hallway to stretch his legs. He was finally disconnected from everything that had tethered him for the last two weeks, and was due for rehab in the morning. He was going to enjoy his last night of semi-freedom as much as possible. He checked with the nurse’s desk to let them know what he was doing, and went on his way.

Aziraphale entered the hospital room after work to find it unoccupied. He stepped out to try to find out what was going on when one of the nurses looked up.

“He’s gone for a walk,” she said. “Everything is fine.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, relieved. “Thank you.” He slipped back into the room, removing his shoes and socks, tucking them underneath the chair. Grabbing his night clothes, he stepped into the wet room to shower and change.

Aziraphale unbuckled his belt to remove it and his trousers. He unbuttoned his shirt, removing it, and then pulled his vest off over his head carefully. He stood before the mirror, down to only his pants, when the door opened.

Crowley’s eyes went wide when he saw Aziraphale’s right side.

“Angel, what the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine now,” Aziraphale said, reaching for his shirt.

“It’s not,” Crowley said, snatching the shirt up as he walked behind Aziraphale to get a better look at the fading multicolored bruising along his back and shoulder blade. A quick glance up to the mirror showed him the bruising on Aziraphale’s arm from elbow to shoulder. “This is not _nothing_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley replied, horrified.

Aziraphale, caught as he was and unable to avoid it any further, explained what had been happening. He told Crowley about the plan, why he had gone to work for his Stepfather, and what Gabe had been doing to him the entire time. Crowley listened with clenched jaw and gritted teeth, eyes roaming to memorize each and every bruise and mark he found along Aziraphale’s back, shoulder, and arm, before coming across a particular mark that didn’t appear to come from being shoved into the wall.

Crowley traced his fingertips gently across the yellowed bruise on Aziraphale’s right side, just below his ribs, on his stomach. “How did you get this one?”

“Sandy, um… He, uh, he—”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Crowley growled. “I’ll tear them both apart.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Aziraphale said, remembering the way Gabe had held him for Sandy to assist during a _reminder_. “You’ll stay away from them _both_. But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It matters. Stop saying it doesn’t. _You_ _matter_ ,” Crowley said, leaning his forehead to Aziraphale’s own. “You matter _so much_.”

“This is nothing compared to what they did to you.” Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to push down the memories.

“Angel, listen to me,” Crowley said, holding Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “It isn’t a competition. You _matter_.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and shook his head. He leaned back, opening his eyes to look towards the ceiling. “Everything got so out of hand,” he sighed. “How did we get so far off track?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley replied quietly with a shrug and a pout of his lip.

Aziraphale studied Crowley’s face. “Can we pretend, just for tonight? Can we pretend everything is fine?”

“We don’t have to pretend,” Crowley said, tracing his thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek. “We just have to remember that we’re working towards something _better_ than fine.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Everything is going to be okay,” he said cautiously, as if he were trying to convince himself, yet not quite able to do so.

Crowley detected the hesitation in Aziraphale’s voice. “And we’re still going to… We’re still going to do what we have to do tomorrow, yeah?” Crowley asked, as much to confirm his own intentions as to _get_ confirmation from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded. “My appointment is an hour after yours,” he said, leaning in to press his lips against Crowley’s throat beneath his ear. “I’ll be able to see you off before I go.”

 _We shouldn’t be doing this_ , Crowley thought to himself in spite of the way he melted against Aziraphale’s touch. _This is what we do instead of talking to each other._ The tug at the collar of his gown combined with the grazing of teeth against his clavicle didn’t help Crowley’s resolve much.

 _But he looks so sad_ , Crowley thought. _He’s been through so much. He needs comfort, doesn’t he? He went through that for **me**. Don’t I owe_—

 _No_ , Crowley thought, closing his eyes tightly in a grimace as he turned his head to face away from Aziraphale. _I don’t owe anybody sex for anything_.

Aziraphale nuzzled against Crowley’s neck, simply resting his head there and inhaling deeply.

Crowley continued to consider the options _. But it’s different if I want it, too, isn’t it? And I’m still going into the treatment center tomorrow. I’ll just have to trust that he’s going to his session tomorrow, too. This wouldn’t be **instead** of talking, not like before... It’s—_

“If we do this,” Crowley mouth whispered against Aziraphale’s ear before his mind could catch up, “It’s because we both know what we’re doing going in.” Truthfully, he had no idea what they were doing, but it sounded good to him at the time. That was tomorrow’s problem, and tomorrow was going to come whether they did this or not.

Aziraphale lifted his head to look into Crowley’s eyes. His voice was a low whisper. “What _are_ we doing?”

“I want to make you feel _good_ ,” Crowley whispered back, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him gently. “I want to touch you with kindness.” He delicately traced his fingertips down Aziraphale’s right arm with a feather-light touch as they passed over the bruises. “A kindness you deserve to be shown.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly as Crowley carefully ran his fingertips under the waistband of Aziraphale’s pants, pulling them down slowly.

“I’m going to treat you, and your body, gently, and with respect,” Crowley whispered, echoing the words Aziraphale had spoken to him long ago. He placed a towel on the floor and helped Aziraphale sit down on it. Crowley straddled Aziraphale’s lap, running his fingers through the soft, pale curls before bringing their foreheads together. “Is this all right?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered, shifting just enough to bring their lips together briefly. “I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I know you’ve been tested since you were in here,” Aziraphale said. “Just so you know, I haven’t been with anyone but you.”

Crowley hadn’t even considered that. The reminder hit him harder than he would have expected, had he been expecting it. He hoped that Aziraphale had only mentioned it to reassure Crowley that Aziraphale was clean and disease free, and not to point out that Crowley had been with someone else. “Even if I hadn’t been, uh… “ He paused briefly, considering his next words. “All, er, all of Louis’s clients have to submit to regular testing to stay on as clients,” Crowley added, leaning back to view Aziraphale’s reaction. “Same with the entertainers.” They hadn’t _actually_ _talked_ about that yet, but they both knew it had happened. Eventually, there would need to be a conversation about it. Crowley didn’t strictly _want_ to have that conversation, but he didn’t want to _hide_ that if they were truly trying to work things out.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded, reaching around Crowley to rub along his back in quiet acceptance of that information. Crowley was relieved when nothing further was spoken on the subject.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened and began to dart around the wet room, searching for something. Crowley huffed a quiet laugh while wrapped in his arms. “What? What’s so funny?” Aziraphale asked.

“I know what you’re looking for, what you’re trying to come up with in that big brain of yours,” Crowley grinned. “And that’s one thing I have in abundance from all the fussing they’ve done to me.” He held a finger up to indicate that Aziraphale should wait, then stood up to leave the wet room. He returned with a partial tube of lubricating jelly. “It’s medical grade, so you know, it’s…It’s quality. It’s the good stuff, if I do say so myself,” Crowley said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, biting his lip in a grin as he sat back down over Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for Crowley once more. “ _You’re_ the good stuff,” he said, pulling tentatively at the tie to Crowley’s gown.

“Allow me,” Crowley said, pulling the gown over his head rather unceremoniously, getting it caught on his head long enough to pull another laugh from Aziraphale as he reached up to help extricate his fairy king from his cotton entrapment. “So sexy,” Crowley’s voice was muffled by the fabric just before it was pulled from his head, leaving his hair in a state of disarray.

“You are,” Aziraphale smiled up at Crowley, leaning forward to brush his lips against Crowley’s bare chest.

Crowley reached for the tube when Aziraphale held out his left hand. “Please, allow me? I want to. I enjoy it.”

Crowley nodded, opening it and handing it over. He leaned down to kiss Aziraphale as his angel carefully worked him open with one hand while the other rested on Crowley’s hip. He began to roll his hips along with Aziraphale’s movements, delighting in the friction as he felt the angel hardening beneath him.

Crowley lost himself, briefly, in the sensations. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but as soon as he was ready, he wasted no time. Crowley lifted himself up, carefully positioning himself above Aziraphale’s hardness, lowering himself slowly.

“Lean back,” Aziraphale said, placing his hands on Crowley’s hips. “Let me look at you.”

Crowley did as he was told, gripping Aziraphale’s legs behind him, getting used to the stretch as he continued to sink down. He gasped, tilting his head back as he felt a warm hand wrap around his cock, stroking slowly. “You, you don’t have to do—”

“I _know_ don’t have to do anything. I _want_ to.” Aziraphale’s voice was a low rumble that Crowley could feel all the way from the top of his head to just below the base of his spine where Aziraphale was now fully sheathed within him.

Crowley lifted his head just enough to look down at Aziraphale from beneath hooded eyelids. His lips parted, inhaling deeply as he began to move his hips in rhythm with Aziraphale’s strokes.

Crowley, being careful not to put pressure on the tender muscles on Aziraphale’s right side, leaned forward to brace his left elbow on the wall behind them, running his right hand through Aziraphale’s hair as he increased speed. “Let go for a bit, please,” he whispered. He was too close and he wanted to make sure they both reached their climax before he was done.

Crowley tried to distract himself by thinking about how different this was than the last few times they had been together after their break-up. This time, everything was out in the open. At least, he hoped it was. The immediate things were, anyway, he thought. Anything else, they could work on talking through later once they had a few more ideas about what it meant to communicate.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? I’ve always thought so,” Crowley murmured as he leaned back again, threading his fingers in between the hands gripping his waist.

The look of disbelief on Aziraphale’s face near broke Crowley. “You didn’t know?” He asked, slowing the roll of his hips as he did so. “Oh, Angel, I’m… Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Crowley leaned forward to nuzzle against Aziraphale’s jaw.

“I suppose I do look a bit better now than before, now that I’ve trimmed down somewhat,” Aziraphale said, looking away.

Crowley leaned back quickly, his hips going still. “Aziraphale, you’re still beautiful as you are now, but this isn’t you. This is something that _happened_ to you. If this ends up _becoming_ who you are, if looking this way makes you happy, that’s completely valid. But just so you know, the you I fell in love with, the one that I found absolutely intoxicating, had a bit more padding. Don’t… Don’t think one is more attractive than the other, because I can tell you, that’s not the case.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley as if trying to decide something.

“I mean it, Angel,” Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “I thought you were gorgeous the first moment I ever laid eyes on you.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You had a head wound.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t wrong about that. You’ve _always_ taken my breath away.” Crowley leaned forward to run the tip of his tongue along Aziraphale’s bottom lip as he began to roll his hips forward once more.

Aziraphale parted his lips, meeting Crowley’s tongue with his own as he gripped Crowley’s hips, controlling them and urging them on.

Crowley lifted up, catching himself before he grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders, opting instead to place both of his hands against the wall, fingers splayed, as Aziraphale guided his hips into a frenzy. Arms extended stiffly before him, Crowley grabbed the rail on the wall and hung on tightly. He arched his back, shifting the angle of his hips just enough to increase the friction on his own cock as well as the drag of Aziraphale’s against his prostate. Crowley had to let go of the rail with one of his hands, covering his mouth to keep from being too loud when Aziraphale took Crowley in his hand while shifting beneath him to thrust upward in time with the strokes of his wrist.

Hand still clamped firmly over his mouth to muffle his cries at his own release, Crowley’s vision whited out as he felt a wet heat erupt within him. His grip on the rail loosened as he fell backward. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and pulled, lifting his knees to catch him.

“You’re the beautiful one,” Aziraphale said, running his hands up and down Crowley’s sides, watching his chest rise and fall as he leaned back on Aziraphale’s knees.

Crowley leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, smiling as he tried to catch his breath. He shrugged with a laugh before lifting back up and off of Aziraphale to curl up at his left side.

After several minutes had passed, Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley. “This isn’t healthy at all, is it,” he asked quietly as they laid together, tangled in the wet room floor.

Crowley shook his head with a resigned sigh, leaning carefully along Aziraphale’s left shoulder. “No, ‘mfraid not.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s temple. “I love you,” he said. “But that’s not enough, is it?”

“Uh… I think maybe sometimes it _might_ be,” Crowley answered. “But in _our_ case, no, I don’t think it’s quite enough, not by itself, anyway. We’re both pretty broken and damaged, as far as your average person goes.” He lifted himself up onto his elbows to look down at Aziraphale. “But it’s a solid foundation, I think, to what we’re going to be doing.”

“You think so?” Aziraphale asked, turning his head to look up at Crowley.

“It’s going to make a difference, I hope.” Crowley leaned over to kiss Aziraphale, then stretched and sat the rest of the way up. “But that’s all tomorrow. Right now,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair and scratching his scalp, “We need to get cleaned up before someone comes in to check on me, and maybe get some sleep.” He stood up and carefully helped Aziraphale to his feet before turning on the shower. “C’mon,” he said, motioning for Aziraphale to stand in front of him. “I’ve seen how you cringe when you try to lift that arm. I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Crowley shampooed both of their heads, rinsed, then added conditioner, scrubbing his fingertips in comforting circles through Aziraphale’s hair. As carefully as he possibly could, Crowley washed along Aziraphale’s skin, minding the bruising along his right side. When he had washed them both, he leaned Aziraphale’s head back, being careful not to let any water get in his eyes, and gently rinsed the conditioner from his hair.

“Everything is going to change again tomorrow.” Aziraphale lifted his head back up from where it was tilted beneath the water to face Crowley. The slight reddening of the whites of his eyes brought out the sea-glass green and blue of his irises in such a way that Crowley couldn’t bear to look away. “I know it isn’t the same, and I know what we discussed, but seeing you every day these past couple of weeks… I don’t know what to do without...” Aziraphale’s brows knit together as tears began to form in his eyes. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Hey, no, no, shhh,” Crowley soothed, sliding his hands out of Aziraphale’s hair to hold his face between them, gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “None of that, now.” He looked back and forth between both of Aziraphale’s eyes, wanting nothing more in that moment than to reassure his angel, along with himself, that they were doing the _right_ thing, _finally_. He needed to show him it really _would_ be okay.

Crowley smiled at Aziraphale and began to sing the first thing to come to mind softly, just for him.

_The sun'll come out tomorrow  
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow  
There'll be sun_

Crowley pressed a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s mouth. He continued to sing, ever so quietly, against Aziraphale’s lips.

_Just thinking about tomorrow  
Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow  
Till there's none_

Crowley pulled his head back far enough to look into Aziraphale’s eyes, tilting his head gently to the side.

_When I'm stuck with a day  
That's gray and lonely  
I just stick out my chin  
And grin and say, ohh _

Crowley grinned mischievously, exaggeratingly jutting out his chin and shaking his head. Aziraphale sniffled and laughed in spite of himself, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist.

_The sun'll come out tomorrow_  
So you gotta hang on till tomorrow  
Come what may

Crowley’s chin gently trembled as he looked over Aziraphale’s face with a soft sigh.

_Tomorrow!_

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s left cheek.

_Tomorrow!_

Then his right.

_I love you,_

Crowley kissed his forehead.

_Tomorrow!_

Then kissed the tip of Aziraphale's nose.

_You're always a day away_

Crowley leaned in to kiss Aziraphale’s lips, but before he could, Aziraphale pulled him to his chest. “Tomorrow,” Aziraphale whispered, gently placing his hand along the back of Crowley’s head to close the distance between them, slotting their mouths together as the water cascaded down around the two of them.

Finishing their shower, the two dressed for bed and emerged from the wet room into the quiet, dimly-lit hospital room. Crowley climbed into the bed, clearing his throat slightly as Aziraphale pulled his own out from behind the chair to unfold it so he could lie down. When Aziraphale turned around, he saw that Crowley had scooted over, patting the mattress beside himself. Silently, Aziraphale walked over and sat down next to Crowley.

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to guide him down to lie on his left side, with Crowley behind him. He felt a soft, loving press of lips over his shoulder and down his shoulder blade and ribs, tender enough to be felt without pain along the fading bruises embedded beneath his skin. A long, protective arm snaked around Aziraphale’s waist carefully, resting on his hip as a final kiss was pressed against the back of his neck.

“May you wake having dreamed of whatever you like best,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s hair, the last words Aziraphale heard before drifting off into the first restful sleep he had had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter was [ Idina Menzel – Tomorrow ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNVJGhBqSlQ)


	32. I Heard The Second Beast Say Come And See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for talking is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I've had a lot of this pre-written, going back over everything and filling in the blanks has been a _lot_ to deal with. This part isn't necessarily angst-ridden or anything like that, but it's really quite heavy due to the themes involved. There are some topics involved in the pasts of the characters introduced, (aggression, cutting, hoarding, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and obsessive thoughts/suicidal ideation) that are discussed briefly, but all in the past. As a quick read, I don't anticipate it being too much for the reader, though I did want to make sure there was a warning that these topics were being covered. As the writer, I've basically been sitting in all of this. These are all experiences that have touched my life in some way or another, and I know there is likely something here that many readers will possibly have experienced either on their own or through a loved one. Please know that every bit of this is something I take seriously. I hope that the respect I have for those affected, on all sides, is clear. I care _very much_ about this story, and anyone who might be affected by it.
> 
> I understand that not all programs and facilities are the same. I will be taking certain liberties here, potentially. Between my own experiences with these situations in the US, as well as quite a bit of research into statistics, policies, and other into the way the scenarios that will be presented in the following chapters are handled in the UK as well as other parts of Europe, I have decided to go forward with writing things in this section as a _blend_ of them to facilitate the telling of this story. This hospital does not exist in London anywhere BUT in this Alternate Universe. If this experience does not fit with your expectation or personal experience, I do hope that, if you can believe a fictional Angel and a Demon can be human, you can suspend your disbelief that a hospital program may work differently here in some aspects.

Crowley couldn’t help the looming sense of dread as he walked down the corridor, flanked by a pair of orderlies, while fluorescent lights flickered ominously overhead. They had just rounded the corner when he heard the director’s voice.

“You’ve all gotten to a point where you knew something had to change,” the director explained. “For some of you, it could be your place of trial. For others, it could be your place of destruction. But you’re here _now_ , and regardless of how you got to this point, that’s a start. We’re here to help you, but you have to meet us part of the way. We can’t do it all for you.” They sat back lazily in their chair holding a clipboard and a pen. “Now I want you to know that it isn’t necessary to participate, but it can help.”

Crowley’s fear melted away when his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him.

“Beelz?” He said, eyes wide with surprise.

The director startled, sitting up in their chair. “Crowley?”

Aziraphale found himself sitting in a bright room, alone, waiting. He drummed his fingers along the curved metal bar of the armrest, flexing his fingers as he waited. He looked around nervously, uncertain of what to expect. This was a new thing for him, actually coming into the office to speak face to face. He had only ever spoken to anyone from this office on the phone before. If he were being honest with himself, and it was definitely time that he was, he might have relaxed and remembered the kindness and consideration he had received during previous interactions with the staff here. Unfortunately, he was still so unaware in this situation. Coming off of the heels of what he had recently been through, he felt intimidated and scared. Still, he put on a brave face to continue his wait.

“I never thought I’d run into Beelz Eiffer, of all people.”

“It’s Prince, now, actually,” they said, holding up their hand to tap their name badge with their ring finger.

“No!” Crowley’s eyes and mouth opened wide in fascinated surprise. “You got _married_?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beelz asked, narrowing their eyes.

Crowley suddenly had flashbacks to being asked a similar question by Dana. “Nothing, nevermind that. I think it’s _great_. I’m just really happy to see you.”

A door opened and a woman poked her head out, smiling warmly. “Are you Mr. Fell?” She asked, stepping out into the room to extend her hand in greeting.

“Yes,” he stood to meet her part of the way, shaking her hand in return. “And you would be—”

“Maud. Just Maud is fine,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her. “Are we quite ready?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you on this list,” Beelz said, flipping through the file in front of them. “I forgot _Crowley_ wasn’t your first name, and it didn’t even compute to me when I got your paperwork. You go on and sit down with the group over there,” Beelz said, pointing Crowley to the circle of chairs where a few other patients had begun to assemble. “I’ll get your room situated and show you around after group.”

Hal, sitting in one of the chairs, glanced up just then. He sneered a nod of greeting when Crowley approached.

Crowley hissed in return, flipping the chair opposite Hal around to sit in, leaning his arms on the back of the chair before turning his attention to the person leading the group session.

“I see we have a newcomer to our little group. My name is Deirdre, and I’ll be working with you in the group as well as individually. I’ve worked with everyone else here individually already, but this is our first group session together. Care to introduce yourself to everyone?”

“Er, uh, sure. Yeah, right, I, um, I guess can do that,” Crowley stammered. _Wow, we’re off to a great start,_ he thought. _All she asked was my name, and I’ve already lost the plot._ “Crowley,” he added quickly, realizing he had forgotten to actually _say_ his name in the process. “Just call me Crowley.”

“Thank you, Crowley. Do you have any preferred pronouns?”

“They’re all great. I’ll take however many you’ve got,” he said with a bit of a nervous grin.

Deirdre smiled, noting on her clipboard. “We’re all here to discuss ways to cope with the things we’re dealing with in our lives. Would you like to tell us a little bit about why you’re here?”

Crowley looked at the floor. He was still trying to process the information he had learned the night before. The thoughts were running through his head, unbidden, and out of control. The things Aziraphale had told him, the ways that Aziraphale had been trying, and succeeding, to hide the bruises on his skin, were too fresh in his mind.

Crowley felt guilty about being so angry when Aziraphale had been hurting so much. He also felt angry about feeling guilty, because Aziraphale had lied to him, yet _again_. Then Crowley felt guilty about feeling angry about _that_ , because Aziraphale had been steadily abused for the past two months and was likely reacting out of fear. Crowley could understand if he’d just allow himself to do so. Which he did, but it only served to get him angry once more when he considered that Aziraphale had willfully walked into it thinking he could keep Crowley safe that way. Crowley didn’t want that. He had never wanted Aziraphale to come to harm for any reason, but especially not abuse. Crowley never _could_ want that, even when he was hurting and angry himself.

He hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of unpacking the eating disorder issues in relation to the new information.

Crowley bit his thumbnail. _This is the sort of thing I’m here to learn to cope with,_ he thought. _But I haven’t even had a full 12 hours to process this. I’m not ready for this part. I can’t even figure out how to go about any of it yet, not after last night._

“Nope,” he replied, popping the _p_ as he spoke. “Pass.”

“Oh,” Hal drawled. “What’s the matter, Mr. Slick? Swallowed your tongue?”

“Did you have something you wanted to discuss, Hal?” Deirdre asked.

“Oh, uh,” Hal quickly shook his head, crossing his arms to lean back in his chair. “I’ll pass, too.”

Deirdre wrote more on her clipboard and continued to go around the group.

“How was your business trip? You were so busy we barely had time to talk about anything.”

Maud looked up in time to see Aziraphale running his hands down his face. “About that,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“Ah, that good, was it?” She said with a knowing nod as she sat back in her chair.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Aziraphale said helplessly as he looked up towards the ceiling.

“Why don’t you begin with your last stop and we’ll work our way back? Do you think you can do that?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Our last stop was in Des Moines—”

“That’s in America!” Maud jumped in quickly.

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at the response. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Maud rolled her eyes with a gentle laugh. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m so used to my husband doing that. It’s…” She closed her eyes and shook her head, smiling. “It’s this thing he does whenever someone mentions it. I’ve gotten into the habit of trying to beat him to the punchline, as it were.”

“What? Des Moines? Does that come up often?” Aziraphale asked with more than a little confusion.

“Oh, yes,” Maud said with a fond smile. “He has it in his head that Elvis Presley, you remember the singer, I’m sure, is not only _still alive_ , but is working as a short-order cook in a restaurant in Des Moines. He brings it up in conversation _all_ the time, whether or not it belongs there.”

Aziraphale smiled, thinking about Crowley and his obsession with ducks. “Ah, I see now. You have one of those, too, I take it?”

Maud nodded with a grin. Aziraphale relaxed in his chair. This was nice, he thought. Almost like having an ally, in a way. Someone who, at the very least, appreciates a whimsical partner and has a sense of humor about it. Aziraphale had been concerned about that, about trying to open up in front of someone too rigid. Perhaps this whole therapy thing wouldn’t be quite so intimidating after all.

“Actually,” Aziraphale began with hope in his heart. “I think there _is_ something I’d like to talk about before I discuss the trip, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Maud replied reassuringly. “This is your time to talk about whatever you need.”

As Crowley looked around the group, he wondered about the situations bringing them all here. Out of the six patients in the group, including Hal and himself, two of the four he didn’t know were wearing patient scrubs instead of regular clothing. Thinking back to the bag Aziraphale had packed for him, Crowley wondered if those people found themselves here unprepared, and hadn’t had anyone in their lives to bring them anything. 

A red-haired woman in scrubs turned her head towards him slowly, staring at him as if she were looking through him at something on the opposite wall. She had somehow noticed him staring at the bandages on her feet that were poking out from beneath her paper slippers.

She slowly extended her hand towards Crowley’s face.

“Scarlett,” Deirdre warned. “We’ve discussed this. Please keep your hands to yourself when you haven’t been given permission to touch.”

Scarlett pulled her hand back with a sigh before she spoke. “Do you like my bandages?” She asked Crowley. “It’s really easy to explain away a limp. I stepped on _so many rocks_. Most of the time, you don’t even have to finish the story before someone is going on about how their own feet hurt. Told everyone I had weak ankles.” Scarlett explained quietly with a strange grin. “People don’t think to check your feet, especially people you don’t know very well. You can practically wage an entire war against yourself as long as you keep your socks on in public.”

She lifted the leg of her scrubs a few inches to reveal the faded scars of words and sentences carved against the pale skin above her ankles. Crowley thought he could almost make out the silvery shape of the words _hate_ and _hurt_ among the letters. “And when you run out of room on your feet, you move on to longer socks worn under long pants.” She smiled at the rest of the group, but her eyes felt vacant while she spoke, as if she were somewhere else and leaving a message rather than having a conversation. “Oh, sorry. Trousers.”

After Scarlett stopped talking and started looking out the window instead, Deirdre scribbled something on her clip board and moved on to the person next to her. “Raven, you’re next. Would you like to tell us a little about what’s going on?”

An extremely slender, almost skeletal man with a beard, wearing what appeared to be extremely high quality, yet still casual, clothing shook his head.

Crowley wondered if his suspicion was correct, then chastised himself for jumping to conclusions. There could be any number of medical or genetic reasons for that person to be so thin. Still, the man was in the group for a reason.

Crowley wondered how Aziraphale was doing. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale eat very much since the few bites of pear tart, but he had noticed Aziraphale making an effort to eat when around Crowley, even if it wasn’t much. He worried about whether or not Aziraphale would continue to eat without his presence. _No, that sort of thinking is what got us into this predicament,_ he thought. _Aziraphale has to do this on his own. I can help, but I can’t be the one to do it for him any more than he can fix me, either._

“Very well,” Deirdre said, writing on her clipboard once more. “Snow, would you like to talk about why you’re here?”

A person in a white long-sleeved shirt and light-colored jeans sat upright. “I used to think my collections were so damned beautiful,” they said, looking down to pick at their fingernails with a faint smile. “There’s a certain sense of satisfaction at the completion of a set, wouldn’t you agree?” Their face fell into a frown. “I thought so, anyway, until people started telling me I had too many things, too many collections. Eventually, I found more happiness surrounded by things than by people. Every piece I collected was a beautiful memory. They made me feel good. I would panic when someone said they were coming over. It felt wrong to allow someone to come into my home, my sanctuary, and say such terrible things about the things that gave me such joy. It got to the point where I stopped allowing anyone to come inside by any means necessary.”

Hal nodded his head in approval. “I don’t blame you,” he said.

They nodded in appreciation. “Unfortunately, I believe that may be why we’re all here.” They looked to Deirdre. “That’s all I have to say at the moment. Thank you.”

Deirdre smiled at them. “Thank you for sharing with us, Snow. I know that was difficult for you. I’m very proud of you.”

An older gentleman cleared his throat. “I suppose I’m next, then?”

“If you like,” Deirdre replied. “Go ahead, Bri—”

“Binky. Please, I’d prefer if you’d call me Binky out here. Bit of a reputation, I’d rather not get into it.”

“All right, “Deirdre said, making a note of it on her clipboard. “Binky it is. What would you like to tell us?”

“As you know, my sister’s family suggested I come here. I didn’t choose this. I don’t think I actually _belong_ here, but I suppose they grew quite tired of all of my stunts. Something about a man my age having no business jumping out of a plane or riding on a motorcycle. And they may be right, but it has nothing to do with my age. I’ve _stopped_ all of that. Too flashy. But it wasn’t enough for them. They started coming into my home and going through my things and stole so much from me. How can I clean without cleaners? How am I supposed to cook if I can’t cut anything because I haven’t any knives? They took away all of my medications. They don’t even trust me with a vitamin tablet.”

Binky sighed heavily. “I’ve watched most of them grow up. I used to look after _them_. I’ve lived a long enough life, haven’t I? They said I had a preoccupation with death, but doesn’t everyone? No one gets out of this world alive. Everything must end at some point. I…” He looked down at the rip he had worn on the edge of his scrub top, pulling at it as if to try to rip the hem strip out.

Deirdre signaled to one of the nurses. “Binky, you’re going to have to change your top now,” she told him gently. “You know you can’t have things with cords, strings, or strips loose.”

“I’m afraid so,” Binky said, looking sad as the nurses led him away.

“I suppose we could end here,” Deirdre said, “Unless there’s anything any of you would like to add, that is.”

Everyone remaining in the group shook their heads, except for Scarlett, who wasn’t paying attention, as she was staring at a wall.

Crowley walked around, stretching his legs and back. After two weeks off of his feet and lying down, it had been uncomfortable to sit in a chair for so long. He laughed as he heard the voice of Dagon in the back of his mind. _“What you do is not technically classified as sitting.”_

He was roused from his mental meanderings when Beelz tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let me show you your room.”

They walked down the hallway, entering a room with two beds and a curtain. “I’ll have a roommate, then?” Crowley asked.

“You already do,” they said.

“Who?” Crowley asked, fixated on their expression. “Everyone out there but Raven and Snow make me nervous, and I probably _should_ be more nervous about Snow.”

“That’s a shame, then,” Beelz said with a bored sigh. “You’re bunking with Hal.”

“Oh, no, no, no. Please, no. I’m begging you, no.”

“Crowley,” Beelz began. “I can’t give you special treatment. I could get into trouble.”

“He’s a vampire,” Crowley whispered loudly.

Beelz looked at Crowley, mouth agape. “Hal is _not_ a vampire.”

“Louis didn’t believe me, either.”

“Fine. He’s a vampire. That just means when he hangs upside down in the closet to sleep, you have the rest of the room to yourself.”

“Fine,” Crowley conceded bitterly. “But when you find my dried out, desiccated husk in here tomorrow morning, you just remember that I told you so.”

Beelz cocked their head to the side, letting out a bored huff. “You know, a wise person might have realized that saying something like that in a facility like this might get you put down for multiple months of stay.”

Aziraphale left Maud’s office feeling wrung out, but hopeful. He hadn’t expected to really talk about much during his first in-person session, thinking it would have simply been the equivalent of four 15-minute phone calls. He had never been so satisfied to have been wrong. He looked forward to his next appointment, which had been booked for that Wednesday, and the next on Friday. Apparently, Maud thought he needed as many appointments as he could commit to right now, especially since Crowley would be otherwise unavailable except on weekly visitation day.

A few more days and a few more group sessions later, Crowley finally felt ready to open up during a group session.

“I didn’t mean to OD. I just hung around with the wrong people.” He thought for a minute, picking at his cuticles. “That’s not fair, actually. I mean, they…“ He sniffed and licked his lips, choosing his words carefully as his eyes darted up towards Hal and back down. “They weren’t _wrong_ or _bad_. They just got dealt a bad hand. A lot of us do. Life is _hard_ , you know?” He flipped the plastic strip on his wrist. “We make choices. They’re not always good. Some are pretty stupid, as a matter of fact.” He started to laugh, but there was no humor to it as he looked up to the ceiling.

“One of my friends, he… Well, I guess we weren’t _friends_ , really. I didn’t know him all that well. More like people who got together to make bad decisions and face the consequences of our poor life skills side by side. Anyway, whatever you wish to call it, he, um… He died. Well, we _both_ did, died. But I came back from it. That’s how I ended up here. I don’t want to, to end up back there.” He looked down at the floor, chewing on his bottom lip. He could see Hal out of the corner of his eye, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“That’s very brave of you to admit,” Deirdre said kindly.

“Is it? Because I feel like I’m scared shitless.”

“Bravery isn’t about not being scared. It’s about what you do with the fear to allow yourself to move forward.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her.

She nodded and smiled at him with genuine warmth and kindness. It was unsettling, he thought. And _that_ was the thing, wasn’t it? That a concept as basic as human kindness was so foreign to him that it was _uncomfortable_. No one had been all that kind to him in the past. Well, there were few and far between, anyway. He could probably count them on one hand. Most of the time, people were only nice if they wanted something from him, and then it was purely a means to an end. Once they got whatever it was that they wanted from him, they were done with him.

Crowley never did care much for receiving favors. Favors always came at a price, and no matter how high, he _always_ had to pay it. Even small favors added up to big expenses. Far easier to shut it down before it began and take care of everything himself.

That was before Aziraphale.

He dragged his hand down over his face, holding it over his mouth. _If I had never met you_ , he thought _, I don’t think I would have known what I was missing all of these years. It all seemed so normal to me, back then. But none of this… No, no. Normal isn’t the right word. I don’t like that word_ , he thought _. Normal doesn’t matter. It isn’t real. It’s all perspective, anyway. Aziraphale wasn’t normal. But that’s what I liked about him. And he liked me, too._

_He cried when I died._

“What was that?”

_Fuck._

Crowley cringed upon discovering he had said that last part out loud. His first instinct was to stop talking, but his instincts had gotten him here in the first place. If he truly wanted to get better, he figured he had to play along and try to use more of those words everybody seemed to be so excited about here. “A—”

_No, best not to use his name. I’d hate to out him in case someone here knows him or his family._

“M.. my angel. Well, he _used_ to be, anyway. I don’t know if he still is right now. It’s complicated. We split up for a while. Some stuff happened. Then some more stuff after that.” He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as he tilted his head. “But after, he wanted to work it out. Said it had all been a lie to keep me alive.” Crowley laughed, shaking his head. “And then I went and died anyway, didn’t I? But that was the thing. He knew that whole time what was going on about why he left me. All I knew was what he _told_ me. So I’m sat in a hospital bed, resurrected like… Like something that gets resurrected. I don’t know. But I’m still angry, right? I mean, wouldn’t you be?” He noticed her expression. “Right, you don’t… You don’t know what happened. Sorry. I do that sometimes. Not really used to talking to people about things.”

_Oh. Yeah, that’s a problem, too, isn’t it? That right there. Maybe if I talked more, he would have tried talking to me more, too._

“Anyway, um…” Crowley continued. “Turns out the night we met, it was his step-brother that had attacked me. Only we didn’t know that it was _him_ at the time. I didn’t know him, and Az—” He closed his eyes, catching himself. “Angel didn’t keep any pictures of him, on account of not being close because the man’s a fucking abusive homophobic _monster_.” Crowley looked down to realize he was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly he had broken a fingernail. He brought the fingernail to his mouth to chew at it. “Anyway, my angel figured it out, that it was _him_ that put me in the hospital, his step-brother.” Crowley shrugged helplessly while looking at the floor as he continued to speak. “Angel made up some story about how I didn’t know what love was, and that he only ever pitied me. He told me that to get me to stay away, to, to be safe, he said. Said they were gonna kill me if they ever saw me again. And my angel was probably right. They almost did it the first time. They were…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “They told him they were gonna dump me in a pond. Can you imagine someone telling you that at a family dinner? I can see how it might have come as a shock, so I can’t be too upset, but _still_. _He_ knew that, every bit of that, all this time. But me? All _I_ knew was that he said everything I knew about love was a lie.” Crowley leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Fucked with my head, that did. Ended up… Well, I started drinking again. I say _again_ , but I wasn’t really a heavy drinker before. Just sometimes, really, though once in a great while, it was an extraordinary amount at one time. Anyway, uh, I had what’s called a kidney trauma when they beat me with my shoe until the heel broke off.” Crowley held his finger and thumb up to show the distance between them. “The heel was about this long. Gorgeous black pumps.” He paused when he noticed the therapist cringe. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, no, it’s all right. I’m sorry that you went through that, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m still listening.”

He looked at Deirdre, trying to read her expression. He couldn’t tell if she truly cared or was just doing a job, but it didn’t seem like she was setting him up to fail, so he continued. “Right, okay, so I wasn’t supposed to drink anymore, on account of my kidneys. I _could_ smoke weed, though, so that was nice. But it didn’t matter. Didn’t care at the time. I would’ve done it anyway. But when drinking and weed didn’t let me sleep, I started with the pills. And I think… Well, I _know_ it was getting worse, and then Lee and I OD’d, and we…” Crowley blew a harsh breath through his cheeks. “We both died. I said that part already, though, I think.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“You should have said something,” Hal said quietly.

“Hal, it’s Crowley’s turn to talk right now,” Deirdre said.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Hal’s eyes never left Crowley. “Mr. Slick needs to hear this. He should have _told_ someone he couldn’t handle something like that. He shouldn’t have kept it _secret_.” Hal sat back with a helpless sigh. “He should have told me. He was all I had.”

Crowley lifted his head to look at Hal. “You mean Lee, don’t you?”

“Well, both of you did, didn’t you? Both of you lied to us,” Hal replied bitterly.

“I, uh, I still don’t know what happened that night. Just bits and pieces that D-, uh, that Dana told me.” Crowley swallowed harshly before asking quietly, “What was wrong with Lee?”

Hal leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, rocking back and forth on the back legs of his chair. He sucked his teeth, taking a moment before answering. “Heart condition. Best mates since the playground, and he didn’t tell me.”

“I had no idea,” Crowley said.

“You couldn’t know. He didn’t tell anyone, just like you,” Hal said, quietly obliterated by the gravity of it all as he tapped his foot while staring at the floor.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Crowley asked.

Hal frowned and shook his head without looking up. “Nah. Just did.”

Crowley looked to Deirdre for guidance. He didn’t know what he needed to do here.

“It’s all right. Keep going, if you think you can,” she said to Crowley. “Just pick up where you left off.”

“Right,” Crowley sighed, slapping his palms to his knees and rubbing them to get started. “So, he, my angel, says he wants to be _us_ again. Just like that. Like I hadn’t spent the last seven months in Hell and come back from the dead. Because…” Crowley thought for a moment. “Because before that, you know, it had been nearly two years. And we lived together for over a year of that. Gave that bastard a ring, too. And not the traditional kind. It was a…Sssecret.” He shook his head and flicked his tongue around, trying to get it untied enough to continue speaking. “Uh, a secret ring that just the two of us would _know_. And I was fine with it, without having a ceremony or, you know, paperwork. I didn’t _need_ that. I just needed my husband. I never… I let him hide me because _he_ needed it. But he hid _everything_ , didn’t he? He did.” Crowley’s jaw tightened as he forced a harsh breath through his nose.

Scarlett perked up. “That made you angry?”

“Yeah, it did. But I’m not innocent. I said some terrible things because of it. But it’s not my fault. No, I know, that’s what people say, but it’s true. I mean, I said them, but I wouldn’t have said _any_ of it if he had just talked to me, right? Instead of just breaking my heart.” Crowley looked up and to the side, blowing out his cheeks in a huffed sigh. “Well, I probably would have said something, but…”

Crowley trailed off, eyes going wide as he thought of the next thing he wanted to talk about. “Oh, get this,” Crowley’s lip twitched upward in an obvious attempt to hide his own pain with sarcasm. “You’ll like this. I didn’t tell you this part.” Crowley had a near-deranged grin on his face. “He did it on Christmas day. Kissed me goodbye that morning, everything was fine. Great, even. We were a little exhausted from…“ He blushed and cleared his throat. “A-A-anyway, we were _good_ that morning. He went to visit his family, came home a few hours later,” Crowley lifted his shoulders and spoke in the same voice he used to use to mock Aziraphale, “All, _‘We need to talk_.’ Turned my whole life upside down. Happy fucking Christmas, right?” Crowley threw his arms up and slouched back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.

“And it gets even better than that. That ring I gave him…” Crowley shook his head with a look of incredulity. “He _threw_ it at me, uh, the night before…. Before I died. I, um, I went to his place to try to get him to take me back. Stood underneath his window like a blasted idiot serenading him. When I started to play _our_ song, he threw my ring at me, after he had been wearing it the whole time we were apart.”

“What do you think would happen if you saw him again? I’d tell him exactly what I thought about him, and then I’d show hi—”

“Scarlett, we’ve talked about this,” Deirdre said gently but firmly.

Scarlett nodded and shrugged, smiling her blank smile as she leaned back in her chair.

“You can continue now, Crowley, if you feel up to it,” Deirdre said.

“Right, okay,” Crowley said with a sniff. “I, uh, I’m gonna forgive him, too, for all of it. I told him that. _Meant_ it. I don’t fuck around with words. Actually, I think I’ve said more words just now than I have in my entire life.”

Crowley covered his face with his hands, growling out a huff. “That man is a flight risk, but I love him. I’m not… I’m not…” Crowley sighed harshly through his nose. “Um, that’s, that’s why I’m here. Well, partly. I’m here for _me_ , mostly, but I don’t think I would have finally accepted it on my own if it weren’t for him. Going home to that bastard is what’s keeping me here. I… That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

Deirdre smiled reassuringly. “He might have been the catalyst, but this was still a choice you made to help yourself.”

“But I’m not ready to be that again, to be _us_. I’m not. There’s the rub. I don’t think… If it happens again, I don’t think I could come back from it this time, not like I am right now.”

“If what happens?”

“ _Any_ of it, really. If he left me again right now, for _whatever_ reason, the way I’m feeling, I’d be at the bottom of some kind of bottle by sundown. Pills, alcohol, drain cleaner, I wouldn’t care, probably. I don’t _want_ to die, but I’d just… I’d want to sleep, maybe even for a century, if I could. So no, I’m not… It’s not that I would _try_ to, to…” Crowley growled softly in frustration. “But I didn’t do too well with that before, now, did I? The whole self-medicating thing.” Crowley sighed, running a hand back through his hair as he looked around. “Or even if he just _frowned_ at me about something. Any excuse, really.”

Crowley looked at the therapist with sad, but determined eyes. “He, um… He actually wanted me to come home, to move back in. Told him I needed to… To work _this_ out first.” He gestured towards himself and sighed heavily. “Told him _that_ , too, that I’m not ready to live with him again yet.”

“That’s growth.”

“If that’s growth, I need to grow better,” he growled with frustration. “I spent all this time _wishing_ he would take me back, _really_ _properly_ take me back, and now that he _wants_ me back, I’m the one standing in my own way.”

“You’re starting to make choices and advocate for yourself, Crowley. That’s a good thing. That _is_ growing better.”

Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe this therapy thing wasn’t going to be that bad. He didn’t feel _good_ right now, but it was nice to get some of that off of his chest.

“Anyway, he cried when I died.” Crowley sniffed and looked at the floor. “Dunno why I’m thinking about that.”

Binky looked at the clock on the wall. He stood up, rubbing his hands together.

“Where are you going?” Deirdre asked.

“It’s almost time for lunch,” Binky said, smiling as he headed towards the dining room. “I like to avoid the rush.”

“Well,” Deirdre said, looking around the group. “Unless there’s anything anyone else would like to talk about, I suppose we’re done with this session.”

Everyone shook their heads and stood up to leave, except for Raven, who looked nervous and stayed behind. “Do you think I could speak with you privately, Deirdre?” He asked.

 _I bet I know what you’re **really** trying to do,_ Crowley thought. _But if you’re going to make an excuse, I suppose speaking with a therapist to do it isn’t the worst thing._

The group stood in line, all except for Hal, who had taken that moment to visit the restroom, waiting to receive their lunch trays. Crowley sat down at a table by himself, looking over the bounty before him. Truthfully, it wasn’t really as bad as people made it out to be. Might have used a little more salt, but really, other than that, it was perfectly acceptable, he thought as he popped a sliced carrot into his mouth.

Crowley noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hal had come back, having just picked up his lunch tray, and was walking around looking lost. He couldn’t help but think about what Hal had said today in the group, that Lee had been all he had. Maybe that was why he was so angry all the time. Maybe he just needed _people_. Without looking up from tracing his fork along his plate, pushed the chair across from him out towards Hal with his foot. Hal looked back and forth between the chair and Crowley, finally deciding to accept the offer and sit down with his tray.

“Just don’t drink my blood,” Crowley mumbled around a mouthful of potato.

Hal scoffed, picking up his fork. “You’re disgusting.”

“I really thought I was doing the right thing by him,” Aziraphale told Maud. This was their third session face to face, and he truly felt like he was going to make Crowley proud of him by going. “You know, even though I had already started talking to you on the phone, he didn’t know about it and asked me to see a therapist. He’s doing it, too. He said he wouldn’t entertain any notions of us getting back together until we had both gotten some counseling. I’m really quite excited to make him happy by doing this.” A realization started to bloom behind Aziraphale’s eyes. “But that’s not _why_ he wants me to see you,” Aziraphale said. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I should be doing things because they’re good for _me_ , not because I think they’re good for other people, shouldn’t I?”

Maud smiled. “I think you may be onto something, Aziraphale.”

“I used to put him up on a pedestal. He’s an angel, right?” Crowley said during group. “Above everything. I thought I wasn’t good enough for him. It _never_ occurred to me, back when it was all so new, that he was thinking the same thing about _me_ , or something like that. Turns out, we were just broken _differently_.”

“We’re _all_ a little broken. But just because something is broken doesn’t mean it’s worthless,” Snow said quietly.

“When it comes to people, yes, that’s true,” Deirdre said. “Though it’s important to remember the distinction between people and things.”

They turned their pale eyes towards her. “I _always_ remember. Things are beautiful. People are tragic.”

“You just have to know how to control someone,” Scarlett said with a hollow grin.

“You can’t control anyone or anything but yourself,” Raven said.

“That’s what pharmaceuticals are for,” Scarlett said, her eyes glassy and slightly unfocused. “Or so they’ve told me.”

“Some of us have enough willpower to succeed,” Raven replied. “No offense,” he said, realizing how his statement might have come across. He only meant for himself, not as a judgement to anyone else.

“None taken,” Scarlett replied. “I’m not _allowed_ to feel offended anymore.” She sighed wistfully. “No more anger, no more rage, none of the _fun_ things. All I get to do is take my medicine like a good little girl.” She smiled at Deirdre. “But you’re going to _teach_ me how to be good, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to try to teach you how to treat yourself with respect and consideration,” Deirdre explained gently.

Scarlett tilted her head. “Okay,” she said, then looked out the window.

“Now, where were we?” Deirdre asked.

“Mr. Sli-, uh, Crowley was talking about Az- um, Loverboy,” Hal answered.

Crowley looked at him, eyebrows raised in amused surprise. _Well, how about that_ , he thought. _There just may be hope for you yet_.

“Would you like to continue, Crowley?”

“Right, uh, okay,” Crowley said, adjusting in his chair. “Yeah, I could do that. What was my point?”

“You said you used to put him up on a pedestal,” Raven supplied.

“That he was just as broken as you were, but broken differently,” Snow added.

“Right, yeah. Thanks,” Crowley said. “You know, he, uh…” Crowley took a moment to gather himself. “I used to be a worse mess than this, actually. Not, uh, chemically speaking, I guess. I didn’t really ever drink or anything like that, not a lot. But I was a proper _mess_ , even sober. He found me lying on the ground, just this pile of broken bits, and he picked me up and put me back together, kind of like one of those, um, whatever they’re called. The broken pottery with the gold. And for a while, I thought that was good. I thought I was better that way. But the problem was, it wasn’t gold that filled in the missing bits. It was pieces of him. Neither one of us had parts to spare, but we started patching each other up with ourselves regardless.” Crowley sighed heavily. “That’s where we fucked up, I think. Good intentions. No doubt in my mind he loved me, loves me. But uh, it was, you know, building your self-worth up around one person, in-instead of yourself.” Crowley leaned back to scoff at the ceiling, both hands on his head. “Whatever that word is, I know it exists.”

“Kintsugi?” Binky asked.

“Well, er, uh, that, um, that’s one of them, yeah,” Crowley stammered. “But that’s, that’s the pottery thing, not—"

“Codependent.” Snow suggested.

Crowley hissed through his teeth and pointed at Snow, shifting into a slowly pumped fist of victory. “That’s the one. That right there. Codependent. That’s what we were. When we split up, we both fell apart.”

“You mentioned seeing one another again several times, that he was there with you in the hospital before you came here. How did that go?”

“We, uh, well,” Crowley drawled. “We, we fell together again a few times, too,” Crowley stammered quietly in a rush, looking off to the side with a faint blush as he did so.

Scarlett giggled hollowly. “I know what _that_ means.”

Binky looked at her quizzically. “I don’t. What does it mean?”

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Scarlett said, smiling her glassy-eyed smile at Binky.

Raven leaned towards Binky. “I’m pretty sure it means they had sex after they broke up.”

“Oh,” Binky said, shaking his head and turning up his nose. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I never really saw the point in that sort of thing,” he shrugged.

“Neither do I,” Snow agreed with a tilt of their head. “But it’s important to some people.”

“And just _fun_ for others,” Scarlett grinned, biting her lip.

“Right,” Crowley said, glancing around at the rest of the group. “Uh, anyway, so, yeah, seemed like _that_ would always end up happening whenever we were alone together, after that. We usually ended up doing _that_ instead of talking, which, in hindsight, I think, was a lot of the problem. Even when we started getting better at the, the talking, the night before I came here, when I found out—"

Scarlett’s eyes went wide, the closest thing to a spark of life that Crowley had seen in them since he met her on his first day. “You came straight here from your hospital room. Did you fuck him while you were in the hospital? I bet you did.”

Crowley’s cheeks and ears were suddenly aflame.

“Scarlett,” Deirdre warned. “Please don’t—”

“You did!” Hal exclaimed with shock, cutting Deirdre off as he noticed how brightly red Crowley had turned. “You and Loverboy—"

“Can we talk about something else?” Crowley choked out quickly, leaning down with his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face and ears.

“All right, I think that’s enough for this group session,” Deirdre said, looking at her watch. “We’ll continue this later in our one-on-one,” she leaned down to speak quietly and reassuringly, patting Crowley on the shoulder.

“Yay,” Crowley said, quietly and unenthusiastically from behind his hands.


	33. Original Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's good to know who your friends are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Johnny Cash – I Walk The Line ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExmI94U5WeE)  
> [Piano instrumental version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zr3Uru7ndAY)  
> [Elton John – Original Sin ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKAWi6x9pgQ)  
> [Piano instrumental version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ktxOKGywqc)
> 
> I have included both the originals as well as just the piano version of each so that you could hear how they would sound played on a piano without any accompaniment.

Friday evening, while everyone was putting their empty trays on the cart in the dining room, Beelz called Hal and Crowley over.

“Louis sent something for the two of you,” they said. “He asked that I make certain you both were the first to see it.”

Crowley and Hal looked at one another in confusion. Crowley shrugged while Hal shook his head. Beelz rolled their eyes and motioned for them to follow.

“Louis said to tell you he was sorry he wouldn’t be able to make it to visitation, but hoped this would make up for that,” Beelz explained as they walked.

“Might this have anything to do with your birthday tomorrow?” Crowley asked with a nudge.

“No, he’s been pretty busy these last few weeks.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow with a tilted nod of his head. _That’s probably an understatement._

Beelz continued. “But my birthday has everything to do with why I won’t be here,” Beelz said, swatting at Crowley’s elbow. “Hands to yourself doesn’t mean elbows are okay,” they said, jabbing back twice with their own elbow playfully.

The three entered a therapy room just off of the main area. Crowley’s eyes went wide when he saw the shiny black upright piano in the corner. The first thing he noticed was that all of the parts that could open had padlocks attached to keep them closed. _Makes sense,_ he thought to himself. _Nobody wants someone reaching in there and getting their hand smashed. Or pulling out a piano wire._

The second thing he noticed was how it wasn’t actually one _single_ color. There were _many_ colors, all quite dark, swirled together. The lacquer appeared to shift in hue depending on how the light hit it as he moved.

Hal laughed bitterly. “Well, Mr. Slick, it looks like Louis sent you a whole damned piano. And why wouldn’t he? You’re his favorite. Suppose he wanted to rub my nose in it.”

Crowley sat down at the piano bench before noticing the engraved brass plate on the top. “Uh, Hal? This isn’t just for me.”

“What are you on about?”

“You need to look at this,” Crowley said, pointing to the brass plate.

“What’s that? Is that some kind of—”

Hal’s voice left him upon seeing what was engraved on the plate.

**_In Loving Memory  
of  
Lee Gur_ **

**_Donated by  
Hal Asture_ **

**__ **

Hal took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. He stood there, reaching out and pulling back, as if he were scared to touch it in case it might disappear. He took a step back. “It was real nice of him to do this,” Hal said, unable to take his eyes off of the brass plate attached to the piano. “I thought Louis just _put up_ with me for Lee’s sake. Lee’s the one who got me a job with Louis, actually. Said he wouldn’t take the offer without me.” Hal sighed. “And then Louis went and did this.”

Crowley suddenly had an urge to play something in particular. Hal startled as Crowley began to lightly press along the keys to plink out the first notes, singing along softly.

_I keep a close watch on this heart of mine  
I keep my eyes wide open all the time  
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds  
Because you're mine, I walk the line_

Hal stood still, wide-eyed, to listen.

  
_I find it very, very easy to be true  
I find myself alone when each day is through  
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you  
Because you're mine, I walk the line_

In spite of what inspired him to play this song, Crowley’s mind wandered to thoughts of Aziraphale. Crowley was very excited to see him during visitation tomorrow. He _hoped_ he would, anyway.

  
_As sure as night is dark and day is light  
I keep you on my mind both day and night  
And happiness I've known proves that it's right  
Because you're mine, I walk the line_

Hearing a sniffle, Crowley stopped playing and turned around. “Oh, I… I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a bit shameful for letting himself get distracted playing something that might have been a painful reminder for Hal. “I didn’t think—”

Hal’s voice was rough as he interrupted. “Keep playing?”

Crowley looked at him for a moment. He nodded, then turned back to the piano, picking up where he left off.

_  
  
You've got a way to keep me on your side  
You give me cause for love that I can't hide  
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide  
Because you're mine, I walk the line_

Crowley noticed out of the corner of his eye as Hal leaned against the wall next to the piano, biting the knuckle of his finger.

_I keep a close watch on this heart of mine  
I keep my eyes wide open all the time  
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds  
Because you're mine, I walk the line_

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Crowley said quietly, not looking up from the keys after the song was finished. He couldn’t help feeling like he might have done something wrong.

“You didn’t upset me.” Hal, finally able to reach out and touch it, traced his fingertips over the engraved brass plate on the top of the piano. “How did you know?”

“I remember him humming or whistling this whenever I saw him,” Crowley explained. “Felt like it was important to him, somehow.”

“It was. That was his favorite song. Played at his wedding. It was the first song he and June ever danced to,” Hal said. “I was his best man.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. He was a big Cash fan. Loved that whole outlaw rebel thing. When he met June, you’d think the stars had aligned just to bring those two together.” Hal smiled, something Crowley hadn’t realized was possible without Lee there to coax it out of him. “June’s a saint, that one.”

He looked at Crowley with a conspiratorial grin. “Something you probably never knew about Lee… People used to think _I_ was the nice one before those two got together.” Hal cleared his throat. “She really changed him. I thought that was the end of things for me and Lee. Nobody ever included me in anything, except him. But it wasn’t. June knew we was best mates, and she _encouraged_ it. She was always worried about me like a mother hen. She was convinced I wasn’t eating right and started sendin’ him over after dinner with leftovers and instructions on how to heat them up. Sometimes she even asked me to come over to play cards with them and whatnot.”

Hal let out a ragged breath, looking at the ceiling. “She _included_ me. Meant a lot. They _both_ meant the world to me. Lee might as well have been my brother, and when they got married, she became my sister.” Hal laughed, looking around with red-rimmed eyes. “I can only imagine what she thinks of me _now_. Probably hates me. Blames me for everything, I bet. I won’t argue with her, though. Let her have that if she needs it. But it’s not fair, is it? None of this is fair. He should still be there with her.” Hal looked off to the side, voice barely above a whisper. “And me.”

Crowley looked at Hal. He had just learned more about him in that one conversation than he had the entire time they had known one another.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said quietly.

“For what?”

“All of it. For everything that happened…” Crowley realized that as standoffish as Hal had been to him in the past, he hadn’t exactly made himself approachable to either of _them_ , either. “And everything that _didn’t_. I wish I had gotten to know him better.”

“You would have liked him if you had.” Hal said, looking at his feet. “He worried about you sometimes. Said he could tell you were having a hard time of it.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, looking down. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” Hal continued. “Told me I shouldn’t be too rough with you. He’s why I was so nice to you.”

It took everything Crowley had in him not to swallow his own tongue and choke just then. If Hal was being _nice_ to Crowley before, he was _terrified_ of what being on the man’s bad side looked like. “Thanks,” he somehow managed to say. “Appreciate that.”

Later that night, just after lights out, Crowley decided he needed to do something.

Crowley pulled the blanket down from over his head. “Hey, Hal?” His voice was a quiet whisper through the darkness.

“Yeah?” Hal replied from across the room in his own bed.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.”

Crowley let out a tiny sigh of relief before rolling over to go to sleep.

_It’s Saturday,_ Crowley thought, opening his eyes as the morning sunlight filtered in through the window. _Visitation day._

Crowley was incredibly nervous. He felt like he was coming out of his own skin, about to drop to the ground and just slither around helplessly. He needed to find something to do to occupy himself while he waited, hoping that Aziraphale would come. He asked permission to play the piano in the therapy room.

“It’s fine, Crowley,” Nurse Voluble said. “As long as no one complains and you aren’t meant to be elsewhere, per Director Prince, we’ve been instructed that you and Hal have full access to the piano.”

Crowley nodded with a surprised, but satisfied expression. _All right, Beelz_ , he thought. “Thank you,” he said.

“Just be certain to leave the door open whenever you’re in there,” Nurse Voluble added.

Crowley walked into the therapy room and sat down at the piano bench, considering what he might play.

Hal wandered around the central area, looking for _something_ to do to take his mind off of things. He knew no one was coming to see him, and it appeared that he wasn’t the only one.

“Aww, is someone all alone?” Scarlett drawled as she came out of the craft therapy room holding what appeared to be a long, cardboard tube, painted silver on one end, with flames drawn all over the top half of it.

Hal scoffed, but said nothing.

“No one’s coming to see me, either. No one _ever_ comes to see me,” she said, her glassy eyes looking just past him as her lips twisted up into a caricature of a grin. “There’s no one left. I scared them all away.” She made a sound that might have been laughter were it not so incredibly disturbing.

“Apparently,” Scarlett continued, “People tend to avoid you when you… Well, you know. You’re probably as bad as I am, aren’t you? Are they sedating you, too?” She began to twirl the decorated cardboard tube in her hands around like a sword. “That’s what they said they have to do to me or else I can’t come out to play.”

Hal’s brows furrowed as he considered what she was saying. Well, parts of it, anyway. It was hard to take someone too seriously while watching them flourish a cardboard tube covered in paint and ink.

“Let him be, Scarlett,” Snow said, walking up. “Perhaps he realizes that other people are too chaotic. Maybe he _prefers_ to be alone.”

He didn’t.

Hal noticed a familiar face walk in. He recognized the man from one of Crowley’s many drunken rants, brandishing his phone and showing picture after picture of his angel, who Lee had nicknamed _Loverboy_. Thankful for the distraction from the current conversation, he rushed over to the newcomer.

“You must be Loverboy,” Hal said.

Aziraphale looked confused, and slightly affronted. “I beg your pardon?”

Hal shook his head. “You’re here to see Crowley.”

Aziraphale visibly brightened. “Yes, I am. Could you help me? I’m afraid I don’t quite know where to find him.”

“I’ll take you to him,” Hal said, motioning for him to follow.

As they approached an open door, the voice he heard made Aziraphale’s smile grow even wider.

_Oh, it's carnival night  
And they're stringing the lights around you  
Hanging paper angels  
Painting little devils on the roof_

Crowley heard a sound from the doorway. Carefully darting his eyes without turning his head, he registered movement without actually seeing who was there. _  
  
Oh the furnace wind  
Is a flickering of wings about your face  
In a cloud of incense  
Yeah, it smells like Heaven in this place_

Noticing a familiar aroma, a smile began to form along Crowley’s lips. Bergamot, cedar, pear, and… 

**_Aziraphale_**.

 _I know what you smell like_ , Crowley thought, closing his eyes to inhale deeply. _I’d recognize you anywhere_.

Still playing, he paused in his singing, closing his eyes to take a few moments to breathe in and out, savoring the scent he had missed so much this past week.

He grinned and continued to sing as the scent grew stronger.

_Oh you were always my original sin_

Aziraphale sat down on the bench next to Crowley.

_A dream will fly  
The moment that you open up your eyes  
A dream is just a riddle  
Ghosts from every corner of your life_

_  
_Crowley opened his eyes, glancing over to see Aziraphale’s hands clasped in his own lap. Crowley grinned, happier in this moment than he had been all week.

_  
Up in the balcony  
All the Romeo's are bleeding for your hand  
Blowing theater kisses  
Reciting lines they don't understand_

Crowley wanted nothing more than to lean and press into the warmth beside him. Well, _almost_ nothing more.

_I can't eat, can't sleep  
Still I hunger for you when you look at me  
That face, those eyes  
All the sinful pleasures deep inside_

Every accidental brush, every incidental contact of skin against skin was incendiary, exciting but dangerous. _You’re trouble, Angel_ , he thought.

_Tell me how, you know now, the ways and means of getting in  
Underneath my skin,  
Oh you were always my original sin_

Crowley was struggling, but keeping it together as he continued to play sitting next to Aziraphale. _The high of **you** , _Crowley thought _, of loving you and being **in love** with you, is more addictive than any other drug I’ve tried to hide you under. I can dip my toe in, but I still have work to do to learn not to let myself get pulled under the strength of your current._ Crowley closed his eyes with a soft, but wistful sigh as he let the sensations wash over him anyway.

_  
And tell me why, I shudder inside, every time we begin  
This dangerous game  
Oh you were always my original sin  
  
_

Crowley’s eyes remained closed at the end of the song. Biting his bottom lip, his jaw tensed enough to make his dimples more pronounced. He quietly pulled his hands back from the piano keys and placed them in his lap.

 _How do you do it, Angel?_ Crowley thought, clenching his fingers along the hem of his shirt. _You’ve said not one word, and I’m ready to fall at your feet._ _Have you any idea the power you have over me?_

“I’ve missed you,” Crowley whispered.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Aziraphale whispered back, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“I’m still upset about some things,” Crowley said quickly, trying to use words as a prophylactic to protect the phylactery where his remaining pieces of heart and soul were waiting to be reassembled into a whole.

“You should be. You have _every_ _right_ to be,” Aziraphale spoke softly and sincerely, leaning in close enough to radiate warmth, but not touch.

Crowley opened his eyes, turning to face Aziraphale, unsure of what to say. His eyes tracked across Aziraphale’s face, casting a quick glance down to his lips before quickly jumping back up to lock eyes together.

“I know what we discussed,” Aziraphale said quietly, noticing the way Crowley's eyes had flitted, “And I wouldn’t ask you to go back on that. I wouldn’t ask for _anything_ further. But if I thought for one second that you would allow me to do so, I would kiss you right now.”

Crowley shivered as he felt Aziraphale’s warm breath against his cheek.

“I would kiss you until your knees buckled,” Aziraphale murmured, almost imperceptibly quiet, leaning in just enough for the tip of his nose to barely brush against the shell of Crowley’s ear. “And when you found that you could no longer stand and fell into my arms, I would carry you off to a place where I could hold you for however long you liked.”

A soft whine escaped Crowley’s throat before he could stop it. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, needing to shut out the visual to focus on keeping control over everything else.

“But even though most of that isn’t feasible today,” Aziraphale paused, taking a long, slow breath. Crowley could have sworn Aziraphale’s lips were close enough to his ear that he _heard_ Aziraphale lick his lips and swallow before continuing to speak. “If it _were_ possible for me to do so, and you _wanted_ to, I would very much like to kiss you in whatever manner you wished.”

 _Holy damnable **fuck**_ , _Angel_ , Crowley thought _. If we could, we would kiss until the end times and ever after, happily. But we can’t, not yet._ Crowley turned his head slightly, bringing them almost nose to nose. He opened his eyes to meet the colors of the land, sky, and sea he found in Aziraphale’s gaze _. At least this time,_ Crowley thought hopefully as he looked back and forth between Aziraphale’s eyes, _this time we’re working towards building a sustainable future together rather than further tearing all of our haphazard pieces apart._

Crowley lifted his fingers to his own lips in an attempt to quell the need to feel _something_ there. “I… I want to. I _do_ ,” Crowley sighed heavily. “But someone could see. I don’t want us to get caught. I don’t know if I could have visitors after if something like that happened. But I do.” Crowley’s brow furrowed as a tiny groan of distress slipped out. “Oh, Angel, I _really_ do. You have _no idea_ just how much I want to kiss you.”

“I’m fairly certain I have an _extremely_ good idea of how much,” Aziraphale breathed out in a whisper, glancing from Crowley’s eyes to his lips. “But I don’t want to get you into trouble, either.”

They both turned their heads towards the sound of a throat clearing. Hal stretched as he stepped over into the doorway, facing out. He leaned a shoulder on one side with his arm up against the other, effectively blocking the door while looking back and forth casually. He yawned, nodding his head up and down slowly.

Crowley couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across his face. Taking one more look towards Hal, Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale. He leaned in to press their lips together softly, entwining the fingers on one hand while tracing the fingertips of the other against Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale leaned into the touch, bringing his own hand up to cover the one on his cheek. Cautiously, he attempted to deepen the kiss ever so slightly, testing tentatively with the tip of his tongue, waiting for permission to press further.

Crowley’s other hand lifted up to capture Aziraphale’s face between his fingers, letting out a hum of contentment along with a sigh of relief through his nose as he welcomed Aziraphale’s kiss with open lips and a smile.

Upon hearing a subtle cough from the doorway, the two pulled away from one another, trying their best to control their own grins as they glanced up to see Hal leaning out the door. “Oh, sure, yeah, sounds good,” Hal said to someone outside of the room. He glanced back at the two of them with a slight nod just before untangling himself from the doorway. “Yeah, he was just showing him the piano,” he said.

A nurse walked in. “Crowley, I know you have a visitor, but we’re passing out snacks in the dining room if you were interested,” Nurse Garrulous explained. “You can bring your friend, if you like.”

“Yes! Snacks,” Crowley said, both disappointed in the loss of the kiss and eager for an excuse not to continue to lose himself within it. “C’mon, Angel,” Crowley said, motioning for him to follow as they stood up.

They went into the dining room where Nurse Garrulous offered Crowley and Hal a bowl filled with biscuit packets. They each selected one before the nurse offered the bowl to Aziraphale. “You’re welcome to a snack as well,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, no, I, I couldn’t,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley’s eyes cut to him. “You _could_ ,” Crowley said.

“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale countered. “I’m not particularly hungry.”

“If you aren’t all that hungry, I could just share mine with you.” Crowley crossed his arms and stared at Aziraphale, daring him to argue.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, selecting a packet from the bowl.

They sat down at a table and opened the packs. Crowley popped an entire biscuit into his mouth, while Aziraphale broke his into quarters.

“Put one in your mouf,” Crowley tried to speak around the second biscuit he had already shoved into his mouth before Aziraphale had even taken one bite. He chewed quickly and swallowed. “Please. I need to see you take a bite, Angel. I’ve been worried about this all week.”

Aziraphale sighed and took a small bite from one of the broken pieces. “Are you happy?”

“Getting there.”

Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, considering something. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and opened it up, handing it to Crowley.

I _have_ been eating,” he said quietly. “Maud suggested I keep track of everything I ate or tried to eat as an alternative way to take control over that part of my life.”

“Maud?” Crowley asked, looking over the information written on the page.

“My therapist. I’ve seen her three times this week.”

“Already?”

Aziraphale laughed. “It wasn’t initially going to be that often, but once I started opening up, she decided to move a few things around so that I could come more often, at least for now. I’m also supposed to go for some other sort of therapy next week. I’m a little fuzzy on some of the details, but as I understand it, it may be a bit similar to what you’re doing, except I don’t have to stay in the hospital.”

Crowley looked up from the notebook. “Really? That’s great!”

“Do you think that’s something you might be interested in doing instead of this?”

“Angel,” Crowley said, putting the notebook down. “I know you mean well, but I need you to not ask me that again. If you do, I’ll probably say yes. But I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’m not… Here is where I _need_ to be, at least for now. I need the structure, I think. I need to not be able to talk myself out of it, to be held accountable.”

Aziraphale looked disappointed, but understanding. “If that’s what you need, I will absolutely respect that. But I do hope you aren’t upset that I asked.”

Crowley shook his head. He knew Aziraphale wanted to see him, and that was why he had considered it. He also knew that they needed to be able to establish stronger boundaries in order for them to be able to work things out, and it didn’t appear that either of them was ready for that yet. This was for the best, Crowley realized, and he hoped that Aziraphale would come to realize that, too.

He looked back down at the notebook once again. “This entry here, the shirred egg. What’s this symbol here mean?” Crowley pointed to what looked like an O with a cross through it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked embarrassed. “That’s where I tried but didn’t actually eat anything.”

“So, you’ve got foods you didn’t eat listed along with the foods you did?” Crowley asked, glancing down the page.

Aziraphale nodded. “Maud says it’s just as important to track the attempts as it is the successes.”

Without having ever met her, Crowley decided he liked Maud _very_ much. He smiled as he read everything that Aziraphale had eaten already that day.

**_8:34am Banana and two slices of toast with butter  
(Ate it all!)_ **

**_1:05pm Salt beef sandwich, mustard only, chips.  
(Ate half of sandwich. Did not eat chips. Got too full too quickly.)_ **

“Thank you for showing me this, Angel. I’ve been so worried you weren’t eating without me there to make sure of it.” _And that’s exactly the sort of habit we both need to break_ , he thought to himself. He handed the notebook back to Aziraphale. “This right here, this is enough. I feel better already.”

Raven sat down across from them with his unopened packet.

Aziraphale lifted the piece he had already bitten off of and took another tiny bite with a grimace. “I really _don’t_ want the rest of this,” Aziraphale said, sliding the uneaten biscuits over to Crowley. “Would you like it?” He pulled a pen from his pocket to write down the time and the attempt on the notebook.

Raven watched with interest as Crowley popped one of Aziraphale’s biscuits into his mouth.

After snacks, they went out into the main area to sit and talk about their week.

“I miss you so much, Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly. “But I know this is what you want, and I’ll keep doing it. I mean, I know it isn’t just for you, it’s for me, too.”

“It is. But it’s not so much that I want it as much as it is that I _need_ it. I need that distance to get my head on right. It’s…” Crowley sighed and closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” Crowley said. “I don’t think Hal is ever going to be the same now that Lee is gone. They grew up together. Best friends since before either of them knew what the world was. Lee, uh, he… He left a whole family behind. I… I don’t want to… I… I don’t want to do that to you.” Crowley opened his eyes. “And I don’t want to do that to myself, either.”

Visitation was over far too soon for either Aziraphale or Crowley’s tastes. They said their goodbyes, with Aziraphale promising to return the following Saturday.

Crowley was sat on top of the worktop in the dining area with his cinnamon digestives and peanut butter. Crowley _liked_ peanut butter. It reminded him of simpler, happier times in his life. That, and it was delicious.

Happily bopping his head side to side with his spoon upside-down in his mouth, kicking his feet to a rhythm only he could hear, he barely noticed that Raven had come to lean next to him.

Raven whispered, offering his open hand. “Do you want my snack?”

Crowley, without removing the spoon, looked down at Raven’s open hand to see the unopened packet of biscuits and dipper of peanut butter, then back up at his plaintive eyes. Crowley shook his head no.

“Will you at least give me your wrappers? They want me to give them my empty wrapper when I’ve eaten.”

Crowley pulled the plastic spoon out of his mouth. “Then _eat_.”

“But you ate _his_ yesterday,” Raven said, looking desperate.

Crowley was utterly confused. “What?”

“Your visitor. He only took barely one bite before he gave you the rest,” Raven said.

 _Oh_ , Crowley thought. “Okay, I see what’s happening here. You saw that, but you don’t know what happened before you sat down,” Crowley said. “It’s not what you think.”

“I think he didn’t want to eat, and you ate it for him.”

“Well, ye, yeah, but…” Crowley wasn’t interested in telling Aziraphale’s business, but clearly Raven already _knew_ something was going on. “For the record, he actually had _two_ bites. But more importantly, I saw his food journal. I knew what he ate already that day. He had eaten right before coming to see me. When was the last time _you_ ate something?”

“Crowley…”

“Don’t _Crowley_ me. We’re all in here for _something_. Do you think I want to talk about some of the shit I’ve had to talk about with you lot? No. But I _do_ it so I can feel _better_. And you should, too. You’re not going to get better if I eat your snack.”

“Why do you care?”

“I just _do_ , all right?” Crowley said. He wondered if Aziraphale might have gotten to this point if things hadn’t changed. “What’s wrong with your biscuits? I’ve seen you eat the biscuits before.”

“I only like the cinnamon ones,” Raven said, looking down at the pack of chocolate biscuits in his hands.

“What a coincidence,” Crowley drawled, reaching beside himself to pick up his packet of biscuits. “I don’t care much for the cinnamon ones,” he lied. “I prefer chocolate. How about a trade?”

Raven considered a moment before ultimately agreeing. “But what about the peanut butter? I really _don’t_ like peanut butter.”

Crowley thought for a moment. “Maybe try to eat your biscuits first and then see how you feel. I think if you show them you made an effort, that might be good. You probably just need to be seen doing _something_ so they can cross it off the list. Might even help to mention that you traded for what you like. And _definitely_ mention to them you like the cinnamon biscuits. They might start holding a packet back for you.”

“You think so?”

“Couldn’t hurt. But just in case, I’ll try to pick out the cinnamon packets when I go so I can trade with you for something else.” _And if it so happens you and I **both** get a packet of cinnamon biscuits, we’ll **both** have our favorite_, Crowley thought to himself. _It’s a win-win, sort of._

After the last snack of the day, it was time for lights out.

Crowley’s voice was a timid shattering of the silence in the darkness. “Hal?”

“Yes?”

“Can I braid your hair?”

There was a snort, followed by an amused growl. “Fuck off and go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Hal.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.”

Beelz didn’t return until Wednesday. That evening, they called Crowley into their office.

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, I did, actually. Thank you. But this isn’t a social call,” they said. “I need to talk with you about something.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you had any inappropriate contact with anyone while you’ve been here?”

Crowley looked up at them with a blend of fear and concern. “What? Do you mean like with other patients?”

“No, but if you _have_ , I need to know about that, too. I mean with any visitors.”

“I, uh… No, I haven’t. Not with any patients,” Crowley said. “But I did, um… I kissed my husband when he came to see me on Saturday.”

Beelz sat up a little bit straighter. “I didn’t realize you were married,” they said.

Crowley rolled his eyes with a huff. “Well, not _legally_ , but it’s complicated.”

They nodded. “Thank you for being honest with me. That makes this much easier.” They looked at something on their computer screen. “I don’t always do this, but with new people on the staff here, I checked the video surveillance for while I was gone.”

They noticed the surprised look on Crowley’s face. “As you were informed when you first came here, and I _know_ you were because I informed you myself, you know that there is video surveillance in all of the areas accessible to everyone, and along the halls. Everywhere _but_ the patient rooms, mostly.” They looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “Also, I saw something in your patient file about your little _dalliance_ downstairs before you came up here. That by itself isn't really anything I take issue with, but that's not something that can go on in _here_.”

 _What the actual fuck_ , Crowley thought. “I swear, Beelz, we didn’t do anything more than kiss.”

“I know, but it was a possible point of concern. You were honest about things, which is good. I didn’t see you go towards any areas that were without cameras while he was here, and that’s why I’m going to let this one slide,” they said. “You’re here voluntarily. You and I both know you could leave whenever you wanted to. Now, I don’t think you’d intentionally leave over something like that, but as I said, I read your file. I think you _need_ to be here, and I’ll do what I can, within reason, to make sure that you'll stay for treatment.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that as far as anyone else is concerned, I _haven’t seen_ that footage, and I _won’t_ be seeing it unless someone else shows it to me,” Beelz explained. “But if they _do_ , you will lose visitation privileges, at least once. I won’t be able to do anything about that. I’ll have to issue the reprimand or we’ll _both_ be in trouble.”

Crowley looked down guiltily. “I thought you said you couldn’t give me special treatment.”

“I can’t, and I _won’t_ ,” Beelz said. “But you aren’t the first person this has happened to. I’m more interested in doing what is best for the patient than following a guideline so strictly that it prohibits growth.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said, still looking down.

“That being said,” Beelz continued, “If this _does_ happen again, you _will_ lose visitation for at least a month. Do we have an understanding?”

Crowley looked up sheepishly and nodded.

“Have you anything to say?”

Crowley shook his head no.

“Right,” Beelz said, opening a desk drawer, leaning over to dig around in it. They threw a packet of cinnamon digestive biscuits on the desk. “I noticed something else while I was checking surveillance. I know what you’ve been doing for Raven,” they said, “And I _also_ know you happen to prefer the cinnamon biscuits to the chocolate ones.”

Crowley’s mouth threatened a grin.

“Stop that,” Beelz said, pointing to the burgeoning grin on Crowley’s face. “It’s _not_ special treatment,” Beelz scoffed. “It’s a _reward_ for good behavior and helping out a fellow patient. Still,” they said, leaning across the desk to whisper. “You need to eat those in here before you leave so no one else sees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIDDLE-AGED-PERSON SLEEPAWAY CAMP OUTTAKE!
> 
> Crowley’s voice was a timid shattering of the silence in the darkness. “Hal?”  
> “Yes?”  
> “Can I braid your hair?”  
> There was a snort, followed by a shrill scream when something hairy landed on Crowley’s chest.  
> “Have at it.”
> 
> This almost went in the chapter, but I decided that screaming about a thrown wig (Like from the scene in the show where Hastur chases Crowley into the phone)
> 
> in the night might stir up too much trouble in a facility such as this.


	34. Mercury Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everything's going perfectly. There's a lot happening. All good._   
>  _It's all going according to the Divine Plan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:
> 
> [Freddie Mercury – I Was Born To Love You (Piano and vocals only)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7HqZXI_bYI)
> 
> [Queen – Doing All Right](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqP8xLF3TE4)   
>  [Piano Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1e3c7_oaVNA)
> 
> [Queen – You’re My Best Friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaZpZQG2z10)   
>  [Piano Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3t6qj9xHHE)
> 
> [Queen – Somebody to Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NShjtOvyJQ)

“As you all have noticed, you’ve got some very different backgrounds and issues that you’re trying to overcome," Deirdre explained during Wednesday morning's group session. "But something you might _not_ have noticed is your common thread. You all are here in this group to work on your coping skills, your ability to handle stress and change. Regardless of the work you do to get a handle on your other problems, if you find yourself unable to cope, there’s a very good chance you’ll backslide and start the process all over again.”

“Or worse,” Crowley muttered.

“What was that?” Deirdre asked.

“I said, ‘or worse,” Crowley replied. “There are worse things than starting over.”

Deirdre nodded solemnly. “You’re exactly right, Crowley. I’m proud of you for taking this seriously.”

She jotted something down on her clipboard before continuing. “Sometimes, people try to cope by coming up with ways that they can feel in control over what’s happening in their lives,” Deirdre explained during the session. “It can give someone a sense of power over their situation. Some examples might be as simple as coloring or cutting one’s own hair for a quick way to simulate a sense of control.”

“Izzat why you cut all yours off?” Hal asked, looking at Crowley.

“Eeehhh…” Crowley extended the noise into an uncomfortable length as he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Sssort of.”

“Could you explain it to us?” Deirdre asked, hopefully.

“I don’t, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Crowley said, lip curling slightly as he shook his head no.

“You don’t have to,” Deirdre said, “But it could help.”

“Er… I… I’ll talk to _you_ about it in our one-on-one, put it like that,” Crowley said. “But it’s not really something I want to, to talk about in the group.” When he noticed the look on Hal’s face, he pointed at him. “ _You_ already know what happened, but you might not _realize_ you do.” Taking in the confused look on Hal’s face, he added, “Job related.”

A flicker of realization flashed behind Hal’s eyes. “ _Oh_ , oh, sorry. Yeah, okay. I get it.”

“I don’t,” Binky said. “Why wouldn’t you tell us if it could help?”

“It _didn’t_ help,” Crowley said quietly. “I didn’t feel better at all afterwards, and I _still_ ended up dead.”

“But why did you cut it at all?” Binky continued, suddenly more interested.

“Binky—” Deirdre admonished, raising her hand to motion for him to stop.

“I—" Crowley began at the same time as Deirdre.

“He said he don’t wanna talk about it,” Hal said, leaning forward in the circle, interrupting them both and effectively blocking Crowley from Binky’s view

Raven, growing uncomfortable with the tension in the circle, cleared his throat. Crowley had been nice to him, after all. This was as good an opportunity as any to do something that could help them both.

“Did you have something to add, Raven?” Deirdre asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Raven said politely. “I’d like to say something, if I may.” He looked at the floor as he spoke. “If I can manage a day without eating, it’s like a little victory,” Raven explained. “I _win_ , because my will was stronger than my physical urges. Every day after that, it’s like a chain of successes. Each day reminds me that I can keep myself in check, that even when everything else is cold, desolate, and bleak, even when everything goes wrong, I can still keep control, at least over myself.”

“But that’s not sustainable, Raven,” Deirdre gently reminded him.

“It has been, up until recently when I started getting sick. I haven’t figured out how to control that part yet,” Raven replied.

“Hey,” Crowley said, looking at Raven with sympathy. He saw so much of Aziraphale in this situation, and it scared him. Was that what Aziraphale had been doing to himself? Trying to grasp at a sense of control over a situation he was otherwise feeling powerless to avoid? “You remember what we talked about on Sunday?” He asked.

Raven nodded.

“One of those things was the food log. Do you think you might want to try something like that? I can try to find out how to do it for you.”

Deirdre leaned into the conversation. “That’s a good idea. Thank you for suggesting it, Crowley. I actually have some information about that in my office. I’ll bring it next time I come.”

She turned to Raven. “And thank _you_ for sharing, Raven. I know that was difficult for you, and I’m very proud of you and the progress you’re making. You might not realize it, but when you make decisions to improve your health, you’re taking control of your life that way, too.”

Snow nodded, but said nothing. They weren’t one to mince words. They said what they meant to say and left it to hang in the air. Sometimes Crowley wondered if all they really needed was to just _be_ around other people, to remind them of their own humanity.

“Now, there are some methods of control as coping that are obviously negative regardless of how we spin it, but there are also others that can be a bit ambiguous. We’ve had two examples in this session, in fact. Both cutting hair and controlling what we take into our bodies can be good or bad, depending on the motivation, or how extreme—"

Scarlett made an offensive noise through her cardboard tube.

“Scarlett, do I need to have someone take away your tube?”

“You can’t have my sword,” Scarlett replied eerily. “I will not be mocked.”

“Scarlett—”

Deirdre’s words were cut off when Scarlett stood up, her vacant eyes wide as she lofted the tattered cardboard tube above her head. “I am war. You were made to serve me, to live in me and die in me.”

Snow eyed the tube warily, unsure why they suddenly felt just as uncomfortable around a flimsy inanimate object as they did the person wielding it.

Raven looked around nervously. He glanced at Binky, worried when he saw the expression of eagerness on the man’s face, as if he wanted her to do something drastic.

“You could finish this for them with one thought,” Binky said, encouraging her. “No one will disobey you.”

“Binky, you need to stop right now,” Deirdre said, pressing the panic button on her lanyard. “Get back, and don’t encourage her.”

Hal had already stood up to crowd himself in front of Crowley, Raven, and Snow, holding his arms out to keep them all back. “Get behind me, Deirdre,” he said.

“Ignore this nonsense,” Binky said again, stepping closer to stand in front of Scarlett.

“Get back here!” Crowley hissed at him. “Does she look like she’s joking? Do you have some kind of death wish?” _Oh, right_.

Scarlett turned around when security entered the room. She rushed towards them, swinging her cardboard tube with a whooshing sound as it flopped and bent. The tube itself might not have been much, but there was still a lot of damage she could do _without_ one, given the opportunity.

Binky whined as they restrained Scarlett, taking her away.

“If everyone else is all right, I think we’re going to end today’s session,” Deirdre said quietly. “Binky, I’m going to need you to stay right where you are. Everyone else, please go to your rooms and wait for someone to let you know it’s all right to come back into the main area.”

Snow, Raven, Hal, and Crowley walked down the hall towards their rooms.

“What do you think is going to happen to him?” Raven asked.

Crowley shook his head. “No idea, but whatever it is, I hope it helps.”

“Why didn’t you have to remain?” Snow asked Hal. “You also stepped in front of her.”

“Wasn’t trying to get myself hurt,” Hal said, eyes straight ahead. “Was trying to protect you lot. Deirdre knows.”

“Knows what?” Raven asked.

Hal looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how to explain what sort of work he did as an enforcer without sounding like a glorified hit man.

“Hal’s a bodyguard,” Crowley explained quickly, noticing the concern on Hal’s face. “It’s his instinct. Makes him good at his job.”

With the question satisfied, Snow went into their room, Raven into his, both now having rooms to themselves, while Crowley and Hal went to their room.

“Um,” Hal began awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For, you know, tellin’ them that I was a bodyguard instead of what I _really_ am.”

Crowley sighed. “I told them the truth, Hal. Just because you’ve done other things in the past, that was just something you did. Times are changing, and so are we. But _that_ doesn’t change what you did for everybody _today_. The past doesn’t define who you are, not anymore, I don’t think.” He scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan. “Fuck, I _hope_ not, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Hal said with a hopeful look.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied. “Oh, and thanks to you, too.”

“Like you said, it’s the job.”

“No,” Crowley said. “For what you said earlier, when Binky was asking me why I cut my hair.”

“Oh.” Hal shook his head. “That’s… That’s not really anybody’s business, is it? Like you said,” Hal said with a half grin. “Times are changing.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be available tomorrow, so I hope you don’t mind having our one-on-one today,” Deirdre explained.

Crowley had wondered if the reason she was there on a Thursday was related to the fact that none of the rest of the group had seen Scarlett or Binky since the incident the day before.

“Is everything all right?” Crowley asked. While he was actually looking forward to having nothing on the schedule tomorrow so that he could mope about on his own, he found over the past couple of weeks that he rather _liked_ Deirdre. It would be a shame if something were wrong.

“Oh, yes, quite, thank you. It’s my son’s birthday.“

“August 20th?” Crowley asked to confirm.

Deirdre nodded. “He’ll be eleven tomorrow,” she beamed. “I wanted to be home in time to get his party ready before tea time.”

Crowley’s voice came out before his brain could stop it. “Warlock will be eleven tomorrow, too.”

 _Fuck_.

“Who?”

“Uh… My, um… Used to be my Godson. Loved him like my own, though,” Crowley said, shocked at how easily something he had gripped so tightly within himself for so long slipped out. _Well_ , he thought _to himself. She’s better at her job than she probably realizes._

As Crowley told her about his experience with Warlock, he wondered if he would be able to keep seeing her when he got out. He was hopeful, anyway. He was willing to try to make all of this work, but he had already gone through so many changes. He was beginning to worry about the potential fallout of rushing just as quickly into his recovery as he had into everything that brought him down to begin with. He needed a little stability, and if he could get that from Deirdre, he would feel all the better for it.

“You all right in there?” Hal asked the lump under the blanket on Crowley’s bed.

“I’m sulking. Go ‘way,” the lump requested.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hal asked.

“No,” the lump grunted.

“This about the kid?”

The lump stirred, pulling the blanket off of his head to reveal hair sticking every which way but down. “What? How do you know about that?”

“Thought so. Louis does the same thing twice every year, always alone, except you were with him last time. Well, that, and…” Hal shrugged as his voice trailed off.

“But how do you know _why_?” Crowley asked, confused. “Louis doesn’t even talk to _me_ about him anymore, not really. We just mope adjacently while drinking. ‘Cept I can’t drink anymore, so _all I have left_ is this bit of moping, of which you are currently interrupting.”

Hal looked at the ceiling, pausing to gather his thoughts before sitting on the edge of the bed. “The first year I worked for Louis, it was in August, just like now. I want to say that’s the first year you weren’t there with him, if I recall correctly,” Hal explained. “I hadn’t met you at that time, I don’t think. Anyway, Louis got so drunk I had to hold onto him to keep him from runnin’ into traffic. Said someone stole his baby. Said he had to go find Warlock and bring him home so you and he could raise him up right. He said that ' _Crowley will know what to do_.' Me an’ Lee, we was ready to go do a little _enforcing_ to _get_ him back, too, until Louis told us what happened, that the kid wasn’t his and was in America now.” Hal sniffed.

“I can’t believe he told you all of that,” Crowley said, eyes darting around to try to process what he was hearing while trying to keep himself together.

“Now, don’t you go telling him I told you, either. He doesn’t remember saying _any_ of it. But the way he talked, I figure that kid was as much yours as it was his, when all was said and done.”

Crowley closed his eyes, nodding as he laid back down. “Yeah.”

“Guess I’ll be off, then, let you get back to it.” Hal stood up, patting Crowley on the shoulder twice. “Don’t stay down too long, right?”

Even though Hal had left the room, Crowley found himself feeling considerably less alone in the world after their conversation. After about an hour, he found he didn’t want to mope all alone anymore and went into the common area. Snow and Hal were sitting in padded armchairs opposite one another, arguing over what to watch when Crowley stretched out on the empty couch between them. “I like cartoons,” he chimed in.

Aziraphale was so excited for Saturday. He went out and bought a few new sets of clothes that fit him better, though he had started filling out again slightly over the last almost four weeks since he had started trying to eat more often again. He visited his barber for a trim and a shave, and headed to the hospital.

Aziraphale smiled as he was buzzed through the double doors into the ward. With each step further in, he could hear the voice of his heart as it let go with gleeful abandon. Upon entering the room, the visual was even better. Crowley was practically _vibrating_ with excitement as he played, shaking his shoulders back and forth exaggeratedly, wiggling his hips on the bench as he sang.

_You are the one for me  
I am the man for you  
You we're made for me  
You're my ecstasy  
If I was given every opportunity  
I'd kill for your love_

Crowley flipped his head with a flourish.

_Hey!_

Aziraphale bit his lip and chuckled softly at how animated Crowley was as he played. It was a delight to him to see the love of his life seeming to flourish more and more.

_So take a chance with me  
Let me romance with you  
I'm caught in a dream  
And my dream's come true_

“Angel?”

Aziraphale whipped his head around to see who was speaking.

_So hard to believe  
This is happening to me  
An amazing feeling  
Comin' through_

“I thought so. You’re his angel,” the petite brunette said, nodding towards Crowley at the piano. They crossed their arms and leaned against the wall next to him.

“How did you….” Aziraphale glanced down at the nametag. Beatriz L. Prince, it read. “Um, Beatriz, is it?”

“Most people around here call me Beelz. You’re all he talks about. The way he describes you, I recognized your halo immediately.” They grinned, winking at him.

_I wanna love you  
I love every little thing about you_

“Really?” Aziraphale brightened with a hint of a blush.

_I wanna love you, love you, love you_

“It would be annoying, but it’s so rare to get someone who is _actually_ that happy after two weeks in here.” No point in making him worry over Crowley being caught on surveillance. Let the two of them be happy as long as they kept their lips to themselves today.

_Born - to love you  
Love- My Angel_

Aziraphale blushed with a grin, eyes darting between Beelz, Crowley, and the floor.

“It’s disgusting,” they laughed at the custom lyrics.

_Yes I was born to love you  
Born - to love you  
Born - to love you  
Every single day of my life_

Aziraphale walked closer to stand next to the piano. Crowley glanced up, smiling brightly as he locked eyes with Aziraphale.

_I was born to love you  
With every single beat of my heart  
Yeah, I was born to take care of you, Angel  
Every single day of my life_

As soon as the song was finished, Crowley jumped up and rushed over to Aziraphale, stopping himself and shoving his hands in his pockets with a flush of embarrassment as Beelz arched an eyebrow at him before glancing at the others in the room.

“I, uh, ‘m glad to see you,” Crowley said, pulling one hand out of his pocket to rub along the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I could tell,” Aziraphale smirked fondly.

“Remember what I said,” Beelz whispered to Crowley before turning towards the door. “They’re about to serve snacks if you’re hungry.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale hopefully, making to follow Beelz.

“Love to,” Aziraphale replied, stepping quickly to catch up.

Aziraphale nibbled on the chocolate biscuit he had been given in the dining room. Aziraphale found that, after becoming more acquainted with the understanding that eating regularly was not only _okay_ , but _encouraged_ , he was starting to pick up more of a sweet tooth again.

He realized with sudden discomfort that he had been making… S _ounds_. Glancing to his left, Crowley sat, staring in a way that could only be described as positively besotted and utterly _fond_.

Crowley let out a dreamy sigh. “Why’d you stop? Are you full already, Angel?”

“No, I… Didn’t you notice?” Aziraphale asked, blushing with embarrassment.

“Notice what?”

“I was making… Noises,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley laughed. “Yes, and I’ve missed them so much. Watching and listening to you eat is one of the great wonders of my world.“

Aziraphale let out a scandalized gasp. “Are you suggesting I do this often?”

“I’m not _suggesting_ , no. I’m _asking_ you to,” Crowley teased. “And yes, you do, and I find it quite intoxicating.”

Aziraphale was having a great day. It was Wednesday, and he had just come from a session with Maud. The sun was shining, in spite of the forecast calling for rain, and he found he simply couldn’t help his good mood as he drove from Maud’s practice in Mayfair to the Vox Dei office in Greenwich. He was even looking _forward_ to putting in a few hours at the office that afternoon, though he didn’t have anything particularly pressing to do after Enoch had all but put everything at a standstill while dealing with lawyers and the whole Gabe situation. Still, there were a few bits of business here and there to handle until such a time as they started taking on new clients once again.

Aziraphale didn’t let any of that bother him, of course. If anything, having Gabe out of the way gave him a boost of confidence, one that he sorely needed to climb back up out of the pit he had been in while under Gabe’s thumb. Overall, Aziraphale had been feeling so much better as of late, especially on days he spoke with Maud, and he wondered why he hadn’t done this before.

 _You know why you didn’t do this before_ , Aziraphale reminded himself. _You were scared._ His face darkened momentarily as the thought continued _. You were so scared that you almost lost **everything**. And, in a way, you still did. You may not have lost Crowley, but you lost a little bit of yourself, didn’t you? You wished for something to happen, and it **did**. How could you allow yourself to feel good about that? What if that had been Crowley? How would you feel about that? It still could, you know. Something could happen to him._

Aziraphale pulled over on the side of the road. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly and deliberately.

“This is true. This is all true. It _could_ happen. But I can’t allow myself to worry about that,” he said, rehearsing the words Maud had taught him for situations like these, when his thoughts became so intrusive that he was tempted to run away or do something drastic to regain control. “Everything is okay _now_ ,” he reminded himself, pulling out his notebook to read what he had written inside of the cover. “And whether or not it _stays_ that way is _not_ dependent on me _alone_. I am responsible for _myself_ and the things _I_ do, and _no one else_.”

Aziraphale took a few more mindful breaths to relax before continuing on his way to work.

Crowley was in a good mood. It was Wednesday, and he had just come from a one on one with Deirdre. He felt like maybe, just maybe, things were _truly_ looking up. He had a better idea, he thought, of what he wanted to do when he had completed the inpatient program. He was building up a plan to continue his therapy, and was excited to discover that, though Deirdre did group and one-on-ones three days a week at the center, she had regular office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays at a local practice.

He sauntered into what was now being considered the Music Therapy room for an outlet to let off some of the excited energy he was feeling. He sat down at the piano, thinking for a moment, before his smile grew broader as he realized what he wanted to play.

_Yesterday my life was in ruin  
Now today I know what I'm doing  
Got a feeling I should be doing all right  
  
_

In the main area, a new patient was brought to the nurse’s station.

_Doing all right_

“Welcome to St Beryl’s,” Nurse Voluble said. “We weren’t expecting you until next week.”

The man shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Just have a seat. Nurse Garrulous will get you checked in.”

_Where will I be this time tomorrow  
Jumped in joy or sinking in sorrow  
Anyway I should be doing all right  
Doing all right_

The man heard something and began to look around the room to find the source of the sound. Spotting an open door, he leaned on the nurse’s station to inquire about it.

“Is that _live music_?”

_Should be waiting for the sun  
Looking round to find the words to say  
Should be waiting for the skies to clear  
There ain’t time in all the world  
  
_

“Oh, yes, that’s a recent development,” Nurse Voluble said with a smile. ”A piano was donated for Musical Therapy. One of the patients here is a _professional pianist_ ,” she said with a sense of pride. She turned back to Nurse Garrulous, pointing at the computer screen. “See this? This is where you’re going to open the patient tab to transfer records access here.”

Nurse Garrulous looked back and forth between the open screens on the computer, clicking as she went along.

_Should be waiting for the sun  
And anyway I've got to hide away_

“Look at you,” Nurse Voluble said. “You’re doing such a good job of it! Not even here two weeks and you’re already a whiz on the computer.” She patted her trainee on the shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she leaned in to whisper, “I need to visit the loo.”

Nurse Garrulous nodded as Nurse Voluble left her alone to take care of her business.

_Yesterday my life was in ruin  
Now today God knows what I'm doing  
Anyway I should be doing all right  
Doing all right_

The man waiting to be checked in began to drum his fingers impatiently on the nurse’s station top. “How much longer is this going to take?”

Nurse Garrulous looked up from her computer monitor. “You’re welcome to go in there and listen while I get you all sorted. Once I’m done here, I’ll come to collect you to show you your room and explain the rules of how we do things around here.”

“Hmm,” the man hummed with a shrug. “I think I just might. If I _have_ to be here, I may as well get a little entertainment out of it.”

Though the previous song had ended, another one began to play as he stepped from the nurse’s station to make his way towards the Music Therapy room door.

Aziraphale smiled as he entered the Vox Dei building. The gleaming halls that once intimidated him and reminded him of how small and insignificant he was now felt more like home without the oppressive specter of Gabe hanging over him. He nodded greeting to a few of the staff who remained to keep working on projects that had begun prior to Gabe and Sandy’s incarceration.

He couldn’t help but notice whispers whenever he’d walk by.

_“I can’t believe he’s actually here right now.”_

_“He must not know yet.”_

_“Do you think?”_

_“Maybe he just doesn’t care.”_

Curious, Aziraphale pulled his phone out, sending a text to Enoch.

> **People around the  
>  office seem to be  
>  surprised I’m here.  
>  Something about  
>  maybe I ‘don’t know  
>  yet.’  
>  If I didn’t know  
>  better, I might be  
>  worried I had been  
>  sacked. ****😁** **😮** **😉**

Aziraphale continued to go over the client file he was working on when his text notification chimed. He didn’t pick it up right away, instead opting to finish reading the page he had open first, humming contentedly to himself. He was about to call the client to ask a question, but decided to check his message first. Desk phone still in one hand, he picked up his mobile with the other. His eyes widened in slow-dawning horror as he read Enoch’s reply.

“Oh, _fuck_!”

He rose from his chair in a flash, not bothering to close out any of the work he had done or pick up the desk phone receiver he dropped in his haste. He ran through the office, down the hallway, and out the door.

Crowley was mid-song, blissfully unconcerned about the pair of eyes in the doorway to his right. He assumed it was probably Hal, who often came to stand around and listen to him play. He was, unfortunately, quite incorrect in this line of thinking. Hal was off in the craft therapy room, trying to find the perfect googly eye for the clay frog he intended to make later.

There was a loud clap of thunder as the newcomer looked Crowley over, focusing on the snake tattooed along the side of his face.

_Ooh, you make me live  
Whenever this world is cruel to me_

Aziraphale’s hands trembled as he flipped through his contacts while trying to drive through the sudden-onslaught of rain that the weather had predicted. Finally finding the number he needed, he hit _dial_ and held the phone up to his ear.

_“Thank you for calling St Beryl’s Hospital. If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial 999 now. Did you know that you can now visit our website to log into your online portal for appointments, consultations, repeat prescriptions, and more?”_

“ _Yes_!” Aziraphale shouted at the phone in his hand, “But that does me absolutely no good right _now_ , does it?”

_I got you to help me forgive_

Aziraphale’s foot grew heavy on the accelerator as the automated system continued to drone on.

_“If you know your party’s extension, please dial it now, followed by the hash key. Otherwise, please select one of the following options. For doctor appointments at all locations, please press 1. If you are a doctor trying to reach a St Beryl’s doctor, press 2. For repeat prescriptions or questions related to medication, press For office hours, fax number, mailing address and directions, press 4. For outpatient services, please press 5.”_

_  
Ooh, you make me live now honey  
Ooh, you make me live_

The automated phone tree was still playing options by the time he turned the wheel to enter the hospital grounds. Aziraphale gave a ferally-frustrated yell as he threw the phone across the seat without bothering to end the call. He parked hurriedly, taking up more than one restricted parking space in his frantic haste, and ran inside.

_You're the first one  
When things turn out bad_

“He’s in danger!” Aziraphale argued at the security desk between himself and the double doors leading into the ward. “Check his medical records, you’ll see! Can’t you check them from here?” Aziraphale pleaded.

_You know I'll never be lonely_

A security officer jumped up from behind the desk. “You aren’t authorized to go in there!”

“I don’t _care_ if you let me in or not,” Aziraphale said loudly, “But you must _do something_!”

Aziraphale managed to slip past the officer who had come around to the outside of the desk. “Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, banging on the locked door.

_You're my only one  
And I love the things_

“Today isn’t a visitation day, Aziraphale. You know that,” Beelz said as they rushed up from behind him, motioning for security to stand down. They pulled their key card badge out as they approached the door.

“I’m not here for that,” Aziraphale panicked. “This is an _emergency_. Gabriel Herold was checked in there today!”

_I really love the things that you do_

“I don’t know how you know that,” Beelz said cautiously, “But I’m going to have to ask you to respect the privacy of—”

“It’s _Gabe_ ,” Aziraphale shouted, his expression frantic. “My step-brother!”

Beelz’s eyes widened as realization hit. “The one who—”

“Yes!” Aziraphale shouted, throwing his hands up in frustrated panic.

“I ran late today, and I’m only just getting here. I don’t know what’s happening in there yet. I can’t let you in, but I’ll take care of this. I’ll find Crowley before I do _anything_ else, I _promise_ ,” they said, sliding their badge through the door and passing through the checkpoint.

_Oh, you're my best—_

Crowley went silent upon feeling the hand closing harshly around the hair on the back of his head, pulling it down until he was looking up into the painfully familiar violet eyes of the person standing behind him.

“Remember what I told you would happen if I ever saw you again?”

Aziraphale watched, stricken, as multiple security officers rushed past him and into the ward.

And this, dear reader, is where we would have cut back to the piano, but there was no longer anyone playing.

Aziraphale had lost track of whatever was happening with Crowley, and it felt as if his world was ending. This wasn’t something he could change simply by writing it differently in his books, not that it ever _did_ change anything. He stood, caught halfway between dumbfounded and panicked. The music playing over the intercom did nothing to calm his nerves.

_(Find me somebody to love) Ooh  
(Find me somebody to love) Find me somebody  
(Find me somebody to love) Somebody, somebody, somebody to love_

“ _Nothing_ is okay now,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Whether or not it stays that way is _not_ dependent on me. I… I have no power over _any_ of this. I… um…” Aziraphale’s fingers and toes were cold and tingling. _I don’t know what to do now,_ he thought. _What am I supposed to do?_ He leaned over, holding himself up with one hand against the wall.

_  
Find me, find me, find me, find me, find me  
Ooh, somebody to love (Find me somebody to love)_

Aziraphale, upon feeling a stinging burn in his chest, let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, followed by a loud, gulping gasp.

_(Find me somebody to love) Ooh, find me, find me, find me somebody to love_

He stood, breathing in and out, unable to focus on anything but the monumental task of keeping his breaths in rhythm.

_(Find me somebody to love) Anybody, anywhere, anybody find me somebody to love, whoa whoa-oh!_

Aziraphale walked as if in a trance over to the waiting area. He lowered himself into a seat, giving up on the effort halfway down and allowing gravity to pull him the rest of the way into the chair. He stared ahead blankly, unable to focus his eyes or his attention on anything but the wall in front of him.

_  
Find me, find me, find me, love_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Saturday.


	35. The Devil Is Not As Black As He Is Painted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing Down The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter:  
> [Billie Eillish – All The Good Girls Go To Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PZsSWwc9xA)
> 
> Chapter title comes from the following quote: _“The devil is not as black as he is painted.”_  
>  ― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Aziraphale, finally finding his legs again, began to pace around. He needed something with which to occupy himself. Most of the staff recognized him by now. He had clicked so many pens in the past that the staff had begun to offer him pencils instead.

“No news is good news, I suppose,” he sighed, speaking to the ceiling as he reached into his pocket. “I would have gotten a call if—”

That was when he realized he had left his phone in the car. He went out to collect it, cringing at the ticket on his windshield. “I’ll deal with you later,” he told the ticket. “You just stay put and scare off any other tickets that might think to land.”

_Oh, yes,_ he thought to himself. _That’s the right sort of thing to do outside of a hospital full of people who’ve seen you come apart. Speak to inanimate objects._

He leaned on the car, his head against his folded arms. “Keep it together, will you? It’s going to be okay.”

Once he had his wits about him, he opened the door to rummage around looking for his phone. Finding it had slid between the passenger seat and the door, he carefully extracted it and pushed the power button. The screen lit up briefly before going black.

“Because _of_ _course_ it is,” he said with a groan. “ _Of_ _course_ the battery is dead.”

Aziraphale decided that _someone_ inside of the hospital would have to have a charger that he could use. He went back inside, hoping he would be able to leave the phone with someone to charge. Finding the people at reception quite happy to be of service, Aziraphale found his way to the cafeteria for a cup of tea to calm his nerves while he waited.

He sat alone at a table, attempting to scry the answers to all of his questions in the glossy surface of the tea in his cup as he slowly moved his spoon clockwise within it. Was Crowley all right? He didn’t know. He hoped so, at least. He knew there was nothing he could actively do about any of it right now. All he could do was wait for his phone to charge.

Aziraphale lifted his spoon, watching the milky drops fall from the tip, one by one. He found the swirls and ripples of the tea as the drops breached the surface to be quite soothing. Carefully bringing the cup to his lips, he took a small sip, allowing the heat to spread throughout his mouth. A second sip brought with it a loosening of his shoulders as he focused on the warmth that crept down his throat into his core.

He had almost, but not quite, begun to relax when someone approached his table.

“I’m surprised to find you here,” Beelz said, sitting down next to Aziraphale.

“I couldn’t leave without knowing what was going on,” he said without looking up from his cup.

“Wait, hasn’t anyone called you?” They looked worried, though the look was lost on Aziraphale. He was focused on his tea in an effort to shut everything else he was feeling out.

“What? No, I… I don’t know. I left my phone in the car. When I went out to collect it, my battery died. It’s at reception charging now. What’s happened?”

“Nobody has called me back with the details yet on where he was taken, but he _might_ be in the IC—”

Aziraphale was on his feet before they finished the sentence.

“—U,” Beelz said, watching as Aziraphale flew through the door.

Looking up to see nothing had changed, Louis looked back down at his phone, tapping his foot in time with the music coming from the hallway.

_Standing there, killing time  
Can't commit to anything but a crime  
Peter's on vacation, an open invitation  
Animals, evidence  
Pearly gates look more like a picket fence  
Once you get inside 'em  
Got friends but can't invite them_

Aziraphale was near-breathless as he rushed through the double doors towards the nurse’s station. “Where is he?”

“Mr. Fell!” The well-meaning, but absent-minded, nurse rushed over, interrupting. “We’ve been trying to reach you about Mr. Cowwley.”

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale plastered on a pleasant, if impatient, smile. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

“He’s not on this floor. I was just on my way back down. Give me just a moment to grab what I needed here and I’ll walk back with you and get that room number for you.”

_Look at you needing me  
You know I'm not your friend without some greenery  
Walk in wearing fetters  
Peter should know better_

Finally getting the information he needed on the appropriate floor, Aziraphale rushed to Crowley’s room, throwing the door open without even so much as a knock.

_  
Don't say I didn't warn ya_

Aziraphale gasped upon opening the door to meet a pair of intense jewel-toned eyes darting his way.

_All the good girls go to hell  
'Cause even God herself has enemies  
And once the water starts to rise  
And heaven's out of sight  
She'll want the devil on her team_

“You must be the notorious angel I’ve heard so much about.”

_My Lucifer is lonely_

“I…” Aziraphale faltered, confused. “Wait, who are you?”

_  
There's nothing left to save now  
My god is gonna owe me_

“I’m Mr. Crowley’s employer, Louis Eiffer,” Louis said with an expressionless face.

“ _Louis_ ,” the name escaped Aziraphale’s mouth as if it were bitter upon his tongue.

_There's nothing left to save now_

“I see you’re familiar with my name,” Louis said, sitting up straighter. “Are you also aware of what I do?”

“ _Quite_ ,” Aziraphale said, curtly. “Why are you _here_?”

“When the hospital couldn’t get in touch with his… _Emergency contact_ ,” Louis cut his eyes up and down over Aziraphale, “They called _me_.” He tilted his head to the side slightly with an arch of his eyebrow before continuing, voice in a low rumble. “ _I_ came here straightaway.” Louis leaned back in his chair once more. “It’s about time _you_ finally showed up.”

Aziraphale bit back a response. He didn’t owe this man anything, he reminded himself. He wasn’t here for anything or anyone other than Crowley. There was no need to engage with this man.

“Still,” Louis continued, “I suppose it’s more difficult to string someone along without _occasionally_ putting forth at least _some_ effort.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is this how you do it?” Louis asked him in a patronizingly innocent voice. “Do you wait until he’s circling the drain to swoop in and save the day, giving him just enough hope to hang on until you grow restless once more?”

Even _saints_ had their limits.

“Excuse me, but is there a reason you are still here?” Aziraphale asked with a sweetly synthetic smile. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Tying a damsel to the train tracks, perhaps?”

Louis returned the smile with one of equal wattage and sincerity. “Oh, a train? Planning another trip _already_ , are we?” He pouted disdainfully. “My, my, aren’t we always on the _run_.”

“Yes, yes, jolly good," Aziraphale seethed internally while attempting to maintain an external disinterest. "Thank you for sitting in my stead.” Aziraphale said dismissively, eyes narrowed. “Regardless of the circumstance of my delay, I’m here _now_. I’ll take care of things from this point." When Louis made no motion, Aziraphale continued, pointedly stressing his words. "You’re welcome to _leave_. Your _services_ are no longer _required._ There’s nothing further for you to accomplish here. Good day to you, _sir_.”

“Oh, I have _much_ to accomplish, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Fell,” Louis said. “For example, NHS only pays for so much when it comes to this sort of thing. Who do you think has been covering the _rest_ of his expenses these past few weeks so he might have a life to come back to?” Louis looked him up and down disdainfully. “Because I’m fairly certain it isn’t _you_.”

“It’s a bit harder to amass wealth like yours without doing so on the backs of others,” Aziraphale replied icily.

Louis ignored that specific comment. “I never had any issues with him before you came around,” he said, darkly. “He was perfectly happy before. _Now_ look at him!”

“You’re confusing subservience and a lack of self-worth with happiness.”

Louis scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Before _you_ , he never popped a pill or turned a trick.”

“What?”

“Oh, didn’t he tell you?” An exaggeratingly amused grin spread across his face.

“That’s none of your business.”

“That’s _entirely_ my business,” Louis said, menacingly. “I own _everything_ he does while he’s under contract, _including_ whatever I need him to do with that lovely mouth of his.” Louis’s brilliant eyes narrowed as he grinned wickedly. “And I don’t just mean singing.”

Aziraphale bristled at the choice of words. “If you’re telling me that you’ve forced him—”

“Of course not,” Louis said dismissively. “I didn’t _force_ him into _anything,_ darling. He _asked_ for it. Specifically,” Louis’s eyes darkened, “He _asked_ for it as a means to get over _you_.”

A pang of regret hit Aziraphale like a ton of bricks, but he somehow managed to not let it show.

Louis paused, considering something. “He has a choice on what he does or does not do. But what he _does_ do, I control.”

“And I suppose he _asked_ for the pills the night he Overdosed?”

“I offered, he accepted,” Louis shrugged. “It’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t, and you know it.”

“You’d be wise to be aware with whom you’re speaking,” Louis said, threateningly. He leaned over to whisper into Aziraphale’s ear. “I could be rid of you in a heartbeat, and no one would know.”

“You don’t _own_ him. He isn’t a _thing_ to possess,” Aziraphale said, standing up a little taller. “I won’t let you hurt him anymore.”

Louis looked him up and down. “And that, _Crowley’s Angel_ , is the _second_ reason I needed for you get to see tomorrow. I have absolutely no interest in seeing him get hurt at all.”

Aziraphale’s face finally betrayed him, confusion plastered very visibly across it. “What the devil are you playing at?”

Louis sighed, his threatening demeanor slipping away rapidly. “Could we possibly sit down and discuss this like gentlemen?” He pulled out his phone. “What’ll you have?”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale was certainly thrown off by the sudden shift in the behavior of the man in front of him.

“Tea, coffee, something with a bit more kick? I’m having my assistant fetch it. Perhaps a nibble? Just pick something or I’ll pick something for you and you’ll feel morally obligated to partake just to not waste it.”

“You don’t know me well enough to decide that.”

“Oh, but I think I _do_ ,” Louis said, not looking up from the screen as he tapped a few more times before placing it in his jacket pocket. He looked back up at Aziraphale. “You don’t get very far in this business without knowing how to listen, or how to throw people off balance to coax out information. Being able to read people is something of a specialty of mine. You have a cocoa and a Pain au chocolat coming, by the way.”

“You figured that out just by talking to me?”

“The cocoa, yes. But as for the other,” Louis nodded towards Crowley’s bed, “He gets misty-eyed every time he sees that bloody pastry. He never did that before. Logical conclusion, really.”

Intrigued, though still wary, Aziraphale sat down. He had no intention of accepting the man’s offering. Aziraphale was far too familiar with myth and legend to trust any offering from the ruler of the Underworld, the devil himself. That was where Persephone made her mistake.

No, Aziraphale knew that even something as small and insignificant as even a single aril could potentially be dangerous here. If Crowley’s reluctance to accept any sort of gifts or favors from anyone had been due to the influence of this man, Aziraphale would need to be careful. There was a bit of a social pact in the acceptance of this man’s offering. As a handful of pomegranate seeds had been Persephone’s downfall, so, too, could a bit of chocolate and pastry be the downfall of Aziraphale.

He would _listen_ , but that was it, he told himself. Not one bite, not one sip. He would _not_ allow himself to become indebted to the ruler of the Underworld.

After nearly half an hour of discussion, Aziraphale watched as a young man brought a tray of insulated cups and three bags into the room. The young man took one bag and cup for himself, and placed the rest on the table next to Louis.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Eric,” Louis said, smiling warmly as he reached for one of the cups in the tray, offering the other to Aziraphale, who politely left it on the table between them.

“Should I go and…?” Eric’s voice trailed off.

Louis nodded. “Yes, I’ll be indisposed for the foreseeable future. If you could hold down the fort, as it were, I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Did you still want me to bring you something to eat if you’re still here later?”

“Possibly. Check back with me—"

All three pairs of eyes tracked over towards Crowley, who, unconscious, was suddenly mumble-singing.

_Oh, if you feel you’re lost at sea  
Just take your eyes off me  
And the beast will set you free_

“Crowley?” Louis spoke, standing up to walk over to him.

“Is he…?” Eric asked quietly.

“He, he does that, sometimes.” Aziraphale explained, holding his hand up. “He’s not actually awake yet.”

“Oh?” Louis turned his head from Crowley towards Aziraphale. “How do you know?”

Aziraphale shook his head wearily, waving his hand. “The monitors. They… I’ve been here enough times to tell the difference by now.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s good, though. It means he’s just asleep.”

Louis nodded, sitting back down to continue their conversation as Aziraphale explained the injuries following the previous attack.

“I didn’t know about his kidneys,” Louis explained. “If I _had_ known, I never would have let him have _any_ of it.” He looked towards Crowley, sighing so heavily one might think he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have let _either_ of them have any of it.” Louis turned his attention back to Aziraphale. “They didn’t have much, but apparently, it didn’t take much, either.”

Aziraphale blurted out, “Why did you let him have any at all?”

“He’s an adult, isn’t he?” Louis explained. “He can make his own decisions.”

“Is that how you justify what you do, then, Mr. Eiffer?” Aziraphale spoke calmly, his face as still as stone. “Even if those decisions land your customers in the hospital or the grave?”

Louis’s eyes flickered between sorrow and savagery. “That was a _fluke_ , and I handled the supplier situation. The rest of that batch was destroyed immediately so no one else would get hurt.”

Aziraphale continued to cast an expressionless stare at Louis.

“Contrary to what you may believe about me, I’m not a monster. But you? You _broke_ him, Mr. Fell. You have to understand that. You don’t get to sit there being smug about _any_ of this,” Louis said icily as Aziraphale slowly shrank under his words. “Especially not when _I_ was the one left to pick up his pieces and give him an outlet to put them back together.”

“You can’t _actually_ think that what you’ve done helped put him back together,” Aziraphale asked, aghast.

“And _you_ can’t _possibly_ understand what _I’ve_ seen. You may have known him intimately, Mr. Fell, but I’ve known him far _longer_ than you. I’ve seen things. I’ve seen him cast aside by so many others, and _every_ time, I did what I could to help him heal. But it didn’t take very much to do it, not back then. He was always his version of fine after, smiling and functioning in spite of everything running through that pretty head of his. Until he met _you_.”

Louis took a sip of his drink, followed by a deep breath. “I have many associates, Mr. Fell. But those in my inner circle, they’re my chosen family.” Louis turned a gaze so cold it burned towards Aziraphale. “And you’ve hurt a _very_ important member of _my family_ ,” he growled.

“Oh? And where were you when he was lying in that hospital bed a few weeks ago, then?” Aziraphale asked with an air of superiority.

Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Not that it’s any of your business, _Mr. Fell_ , but after I made certain the remaining product was destroyed and measures in place to prevent it from reoccurring in the future, I personally attended to Mr. Gur’s final arrangements and did what I could for his family.”

“Don’t you have _people_ for that sort of—”

“Lee was my _friend_ ,” Louis snarled.

“I… I’m sorry,” Aziraphale replied, properly taken aback and remorseful.

Louis took a moment to gather himself. “When I told you that you broke Crowley, I wasn’t joking. Even with everything I ever did to help him, he never fully trusted me or anyone else.” Louis leaned in closer to Aziraphale. “But he trusted _you_ , and then you _broke_ him,” he growled in a whisper that would have shaken a lesser man to his core. Louis took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips while glaring menacingly at Aziraphale. “And now you’re back to do it again, are you?”

“I told you,” Aziraphale replied, anguish and remorse evident across his face. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“And I believe that, I do,” Louis sat back in his chair, nodding calmly. “But you’ve _already_ done it more than once, and you probably also didn’t want to hurt him even then… But you _did_ , and it nearly _killed_ him.”

Aziraphale glared as he opened his mouth to speak.

“And while we _both_ had a hand in that,” Louis quickly cut Aziraphale’s rant off, “My part was unintentional due to a lack of information and a faulty product, which I’ve since recalled and destroyed. And I’ve been paying to supplement his rehab treatment.” Louis leaned forward again, steepling his fingers together to point towards Aziraphale as he spoke. “ _You_ , however, made the _decision_ to hurt him. Why should I believe it’s any different now?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together in a tight line, closing his eyes to gather himself. _This is where you run,_ he thought to himself. _This is where you always run and nothing **ever** improves when you do that_. He opened his eyes, carefully considering his next move.

Aziraphale looked Louis over, studying him with consideration. He didn’t feel he _owed_ this man _any_ sort of explanation, not for his own actions. But if Louis was genuinely concerned for Crowley, if the things he said were true, the man might still deserve one.

“I was scared _he_ was going to get hurt,” Aziraphale said quietly, brows raised in sincerity, but eyes cast down with guilt. “I _still_ am, but it was different then.” He looked up at Louis. “This is not the first time Gabe attacked someone.”

Louis sat up a little straighter in his chair, his interest in what Aziraphale had to say evident by the change in his posture.

Aziraphale looked up towards the ceiling with a silent and mirthless laugh. “It isn’t even the first time he’s attacked _Crowley_.”

_That_ got Louis’s attention in particular.

“Gabe was the one who put him in the hospital two years ago.”

Louis’s eyes widened. “He said he didn’t know who it was.”

“He didn’t, not until my sister told him the night before he ended up back here.” Aziraphale explained. “She and I, we learned about it just after Christmas dinner.” Aziraphale flashed a sardonic smile with a tilt of his head.

“And that’s when everything went to shit,” Louis said as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together in front of himself.

Aziraphale nodded. “I, um… I tried to keep it from him when I found out, myself. To keep him safe, I thought. They…” He huffed a breath, shaking his head as he looked off to the side. “They were so casual about it, the way they spoke of him, of what they did to him, and what they said they would do if they saw him again. It all seemed so unreal.”

Louis lifted his chin and leaned back in his seat, beginning to form a better idea of what was going on. Though he had many questions, he was generally quite adept at uncovering the answers through observation. In this case, however, there was one particular bit he still hadn’t quite cottoned on to yet.

“What I don’t understand,” Louis began, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Is how Mr. Herold managed to get past security to begin with.”

Aziraphale reached for his phone in his pocket, only to remember it was still at the reception desk on another floor. “He _didn’t_ , not exactly.”

Louis arched an eyebrow.

“Gabe and Sandy got caught hurting someone a few weeks ago,” Aziraphale began to explain. “Two people, actually. They were arrested. According to his father, my step-father, Gabe was not in his right mind at the time, having been under some sort of chemical influence.”

Aziraphale cut his eyes up and down at Louis quickly before continuing. “They wouldn’t have been held long, of course, laws being what they are, but their victims died not long after. The evidence at the time largely implicated Sandy, but Gabe was considered an accessory after the fact, though only minimally. There’s a concept called _diminished capacity_ , and through my step father’s legal team, along with the records from the night he was arrested, Gabe was able to claim that. His sentencing was to be postponed until _after_ he had completed a treatment program.”

Louis sat up straighter in his seat as the pieces began to form a more complete picture in his mind.

“It’s… It’s incredibly frustrating how lacking the laws are here when it comes to this sort of thing,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head sadly. “And while I do agree that rehabilitation and treatment is _better_ in many cases, sometimes it’s simply used as a way to circumvent any sort of _actual_ punishment.”

Louis’s face ran a stoic gamut in the blink of an eye. “I am about to ask you a question,” he said, pausing to take a slow sip from his cup. “But you should _know_ that I’ll have my answer regardless of how you choose to present your response.” Louis’s gaze held an intensity that startled Aziraphale. “That being said, it would be in your best interest to be absolutely honest with me.”

Aziraphale blinked, waiting for the man to continue.

Louis’s voice, though barely above a whisper, was a rich, sultry prod against even the strongest of wills. “Do you believe he _deserves_ to be punished, Mr. Fell?”

Without hesitation, Aziraphale’s voice came to him quickly. “Yes.” The two kept eye contact between them for a moment before Aziraphale lowered his head, closing his eyes.

“I can take care of that problem,” Louis said casually, pulling his phone back out.

Aziraphale’s head jerked back up. “Wait, no! You can’t. As much as I hate him myself, and I _do_ hate him,” Aziraphale said, guiltily, remembering what he had prayed for a few weeks prior. “My mother and her husband still love him.” Aziraphale whispered, looking around. “Please don’t kill him.”

“Oh, pish, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Louis continued tapping at his phone as if this were completely normal conversation. “It’s like you were _made_ for Crowley. He gets squeamish about that sort of thing, too.”

“Yes, thank you. That’s… That’s comforting to know, actually, but I still must ask of you to stop whatever it is you’re doing at once.”

Louis looked up. “You underestimate me. That’s a mistake I hope you’ll not make again, Mr. Fell.” Louis looked back down at his phone, tapping as he continued to speak. “As Mr. Crowley is still under contract and in my employ, my associates will be handling all of his legal representation. I have a vested interest in his well-being, you understand, and I have a responsibility to protect my assets.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, nervously. “And what does that mean?”

“I’ve already sent instructions to collect all of the video surveillance in the hospital, as my team will be representing Mr. Asture.”

“Who?”

“Ah, he’s another of my assets, and also a friend. He was also in the treatment program with Crowley.” Louis’s eyebrows furrowed slightly with a hint of a pout passing over his lips. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought you had at least been visiting Crowley while he was there.”

“Oh, yes, I have, every time they've allowed it. But I'm afraid I didn’t recognize the name. Are you referring to Hal, I think it is?”

Louis nodded, concern leaving his face. "My apologies. I admit, I had been avoiding a visit because I thought you might be there, Mr. Fell," Louis explained. "I've been quite angry with you ever since I first discovered you existed, and while I am not at all shy from stating my opinions, Crowley was there to _heal_ , not watch us fight. Now," Louis continued, adjusting his position in his chair, “As for the other matter, Mr. Asture got to your step-brother before security did. Hal dragged him off of Crowley and went to work doing one of the things he does _best_.” Louis’s lips curled up into a wicked grin. “It took four security officers to pull Hal off of Mr. Herold. I haven't all of the details yet, but Mr. Baddicumbe of my legal team has informed me that not only will I need to replace a piano bench, but a broken arm also may have been involved."

Aziraphale thought he should be terrified of the look on Louis's face. He thought he should be ashamed of the unmitigated glee it brought him instead.

He wasn't.

He didn't feel even _one iota_ of shame for it. 

"The way it probably looked," Louis continued, "After what Hal did to your step-brother, if Beelz hadn’t known the situation, they might have carried off the wrong person.” Louis took a sip of his coffee. 

“You know Beelz?”

“I _should_. We grew up together. Even had the same parents, though I had them a bit longer,” Louis said with a wink of a topaz eye. “That’s why I suggested both Mr. Asture and Crowley go into the center _here_ rather than one of the others in the area. I trust Beelz above anyone else, and I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is, if need be.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Aziraphale conceded.

“So, along with the surveillance we’ve already begun to collect, I’ve just now requested Crowley’s medical records from both this and his previous attacks. Someone will be along shortly to take statements from the staff. If you wouldn’t mind giving them a statement as well, I believe that would be of great assistance. We’ll keep it anonymous if you prefer, though I believe it _would_ hold more weight with your name. But you don’t have to decide that right now.”

“What are you suggesting here?”

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything, Mr. Fell,” Louis said firmly, leaning forward in his seat. “I’m _telling_ you that I’m going to have his assailant prosecuted so fully that he’ll never see the light of day again.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply.

Louis took a casual sip from his coffee. “And don’t bother protesting, because you have absolutely _no_ control over the things I do.”

“Actually, I was going to thank you,” Aziraphale said, finally taking a purposeful drink from his cocoa. If what Louis was proposing would actually _succeed,_ Aziraphale would gladly walk into Hell to work off that debt. Not just for Crowley’s sake, though that was a big part of it, but for _himself_ , as well. He never imagined he’d feel so free to be so damned.

Louis looked him up and down, thoughtfully. “You’ve surprised me again, Mr. Fell. That doesn’t happen often.” He placed his phone back inside of his jacket pocket, looking over towards Crowley, still unconscious in the bed. “Should we be concerned…?”

“Well, yes, but no, not exactly,” Aziraphale said, noticing where Louis was looking. “I mean, I _thought_ he was in the ICU when I first found out he was hurt, but this is just a regular room. And that bit earlier, with the singing,” Aziraphale adjusted himself in his seat, tilting his head back and forth to stretch his neck. “It means he’s not in a coma, at least. That was the immediate concern, for me, anyway. He’s just asleep. But as far as everything else, I just don’t know. We have to wait and see what the doctor says.”

“You're listed as his spouse on his forms."

"What? I never put myself down as his spouse." Aziraphale specifically remembered only writing himself in as an emergency contact and nothing more.

"Perhaps not, but he updated his paperwork before he went into the treatment program. I found that out when I was added as his employer. He's given you authority here. Call them in.”

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. “He's not in critical condition. We’re going to wait until he’s awake to hear it first.” He blew a breath out in a huff as he rolled his eyes at himself. “I’m afraid my knowing things about Crowley that he didn’t know himself has been quite a bit of a problem in the past. I’m not going to do that to Crowley if I can avoid it, not again.”

As the day marched on, the angel in tartan continued his conversation with the Devil Incarnate.

“I never knew his name,” Aziraphale said gently.

Louis looked surprised. “You knew about him?”

“Crowley carries his picture with him.”

Louis smiled. “I used to think the only way Crowley could have loved Warlock more would have been if he had been his own son. But when I found out he wasn’t actually mine, genetically speaking, I realized that didn’t make a bit of difference, not in how either of us felt about that little boy.” He sighed heavily. “And then we both lost him.”

“I don’t know that he still does, though I assume he would, but Crowley had been keeping up with him on social media. For what it’s worth, the boy seems happy in his pictures.”

Louis looked up. “I’m glad he’s happy, but…” His voice trailed off with a conflicted sigh.

“But it hurts, too,” Aziraphale offered. “That’s what Crowley said.”

Louis nodded, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

Aziraphale turned to watch Crowley again, eyes drifting around all the monitors to glance at the readings, their meanings entirely too familiar to him by now, and sat back in his chair once more.

“How are you doing this?”

Aziraphale turned around. “Sorry, what was that?”

“ _How_ are you _doing_ this?” Louis repeated, his vivid, burning gaze turned intently upon Aziraphale. “I don’t talk to people like this, especially not when it comes to Crowley. And I’ve _never_ spoken with anyone _but_ Crowley about Warlock.”

Aziraphale, looking back towards Crowley, shook his head slightly while shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not doing _anything_ out of the ordinary, really.” He sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall wearily, linking his fingers together over his stomach. “Once again, I’m sat in a hospital room, waiting for him to wake up.” Aziraphale opened his eyes and rolled his head to look back at Louis. “It shouldn’t _be_ ordinary, though, should it? All of this,” his voice was tired as he waved his hand towards the monitors.

Louis, upon recognizing the stress and fatigue in Aziraphale’s eyes, began to really see how much this was affecting him. “Look,” he said quietly. “As long as we’re both here, why don’t you try to relax, maybe take a nap? I’d wager you could use one, and I’m not one to place a bet I won’t win. He’s safe here, and where he needs to be. If anything happens, I’ll be here to wake you up.”

Aziraphale, finding himself entirely too weary to argue, simply nodded and closed his eyes once more, drifting off almost immediately.

Eric opened the lid to the takeaway box. “Oh,” he groaned. “I asked for guacamole, but this is just one big avocado. I should have checked it before I left. Here,” he said, offering a different box from the takeaway bag he had placed on the table. “I ordered the same thing for me, and this one is right.”

“It’s fine,” Louis said with a wave of his hand towards the offered box. “I really don’t mind it this way. You go on and eat your dinner.”

“I’ll give you money to shut up,” Crowley said weakly, his eyes still closed.

“No, you won’t,” Louis said as he stood up to walk over to Crowley. “That’s not how our business relationship works. But I _am_ going to step outside for a moment to handle some things. Your angel is here.” The corner of Louis’s mouth quirked up as he noticed the jump on the monitor dial just then. “He’ll keep you company.” Louis nodded towards Eric, then towards the door.

Louis gently tapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “Your sleeping beauty awakes,” he said quietly. “Now that you’re both awake, I relinquish guard duty to you temporarily. I need to make a few calls regarding what we’ve discussed. I’m about to step out for a bit, but I’ll return shortly.”

Aziraphale scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Could you let Beelz know? Last we spoke, no one had gotten back to them on how he was doing.”

The corner of Louis’s lip twitched upward. “You’ve surprised me once more, Mr. Fell. I will do that first thing.”

As Louis left the room, Aziraphale stepped over to Crowley’s bedside just in time to watch him open his eyes.

“Not that I mind the view,” Crowley said groggily as his eyes slowly tracked between the monitors he was connected to and the angel at his bedside, “But we simply _must_ stop meeting like this.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved peal of laughter cut off by a sniffle before leaning down to press a tender kiss upon Crowley’s lips. He allowed himself to linger for a moment, gently stroking the back of his knuckles along the side of Crowley’s face that wasn’t bruised. When he lifted back up, he lowered the side rail to sit on the edge of the bed next to Crowley, lacing their fingers together.

“What happened?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled kindly, but sadly at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear,” he said. “I have a vague _idea_ of what happened, but I haven’t any details. As for the extent of your injuries, I haven’t spoken with a doctor yet, either.”

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment while he slowly started to remember bits and pieces. “Gabe,” he murmured quietly.

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m afraid so. But you needn’t worry about that, especially not right now,” he said reassuringly. “That’s going to be taken care of.”

“Louis was here,” Crowley said.

“He was, yes.”

“Did you two get along while I was out?” Crowley asked, opening his eyes again. His voice, along with his head, had begun to clear up now.

Aziraphale took in a deep breath through his nose, exhaling it in a burst through his mouth. “Well, I suppose I had a rather enlightening conversation with your employer,” Aziraphale said.

“What was it about?” Crowley squeezed his hand gently.

“My dear, I do believe I’ve just sold my soul to the devil himself,” he said with an amused huff and a grin. He lifted Crowley’s palm to his lips.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” Crowley grinned back fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse Crowley sings in his sleep is from Steam Powered Giraffe - Latum Alterum (Ya Ya Ya), featured in Chapter 21 when Crowley first went to one of Louis's Inner Circle parties.
> 
> Now, I've noticed a lot of comments over several chapters regarding reporting Gabe for assault, or that he should be in prison, etc.  
> I've been careful to avoid a lot of that due to not wanting to give any of the plot away. The thing is, the actual laws on all of this are a lot different than how they are often presented in media, and it's frightening.  
> While I think it's preferred to give someone the help they need to improve themselves in a situation where it is warranted, It's tragic how lacking the laws on domestic violence and assault can be in the UK vs the US. Mind, the US is by _far_ not a great example at all of the effectiveness of the judicial and penal systems, but it is certainly more strict when it is actually enforced. (Assuming a threat is taken seriously to begin with, that is. It's entirely too common for these things to slip through the cracks. A restraining order is simply a piece of paper if it isn't enforced, for example.)  
> Per my research early on when putting together my outline back in January, I was _stunned_ to discover that the sort of things Gabe had done to Crowley at the beginning might not have ever had him locked up beyond the initial arrest at all, and if he had been, it might have been only a few days to a few months, and rarely more than a year or two if that (Depending on extra circumstances, of course.) Sometimes _time served_ can be simply community service.  
> A person can do a _lot_ of damage to another person before getting caught in a repeat violation. It's all really quite frustrating and scary.  
> Initially, the attack that got Sandy and Gabe caught was just going to be one person, and I had no intention of the attack proving to be fatal, but after reading up on it, though I am _not_ a lawyer, I realized that it would not have been enough to get what I was trying to accomplish done.
> 
> After some of the research I've done for these recent chapters, I'm fairly certain I'm on some sort of government or international _list_. For those interested, who don't want to have quite as colorful of a Google Search History as I have, here is one of the sources I used to come up with a way that would have been more feasible for this to happen in the UK.  
> <https://www.lawtonslaw.co.uk/resources/what-is-the-sentence-for-manslaughter-how-many-years-could-you-face-in-prison/>


	36. Nature Is The Art Of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers are what you make of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There is a brief description of the surveillance video. It is not specifically graphic, but it does explain the injuries sustained.
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> [David Bowie - Word On A Wing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmtL3RxiVjc)
> 
> Chapter title comes from Dante Aligheri

“I feel so weird right now,” Crowley said, rubbing his eyes. His head hurt, but not just inside. There was a dull throb right along the base of his skull on the right. Delicately, he probed his fingertips along his head, pressing gently as he went along. Crowley felt a familiar sting along the skin of his right cheek and temple.

Crowley recognized the majority of the tubes, wires, and leads attached to his skin. His lip curled in irritation at the realization of the ache in his side and the _delightful_ tube and collection bag that came with it.

Above all of the physical sensations, he felt panicky, like he should get up and break into a run, but he wasn’t sure _where_ , just _somewhere_. At the same time, he wanted to tuck himself in and hide away in a small space with walls on all sides, with darkness and shadow and deadbolts to cover over the entrance. It was all quite conflicting, save for one common factor. He felt _vulnerable_.

Crowley could vaguely remember feeling this way at least once before, but at the time, he had been more concerned with not letting anyone see it, especially not the angel that had found him, helpless and broken, on the ground that night. Crowley mostly remembered how exhausting it all was, attempting to put on a brave face in spite of the terror and pain he had been in.

Crowley stole a quick glance at Aziraphale, looking away almost as quickly. How strange it was, he thought, that with all the panic and discomfort and fear he could feel simmering underneath the confusion, in spite of the intense need to hide, he didn’t _want_ to hide from Aziraphale. He felt _safe_ next to his angel, as if he could wrap himself up within Aziraphale’s arms and be cocooned in safety and love, and everything would be okay, eventually, anyway.

He could feel something was wrapped around his right foot and ankle, but it still felt cool, somehow. He winced with a sharp intake of breath as he shifted his leg and tried to flex his foot.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, brow furrowed with concern.

“Mm, eh, I don’t know, actually.” Crowley noised. “I think my ankle might be fucked up. Can you move the blanket off of my foot so I can see?”

Aziraphale nodded, carefully leaning forward to lift the blanket up from the right corner of the bed. Crowley’s outer toes were showing the initial signs of bruising beneath the elastic bandage wrapped around the foot and ankle.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a friendly voice. “Mr. Crowley, I’ve been informed you’re awake now. Glad to have you back with us,” Nurse Burbage said. His eyes went wide momentarily as he flustered. “ _Awake_ , I mean. I’m not glad you’re _here_ again.”

Crowley nodded slightly in an attempt to put the man out of his misery.

“The doctor was called away to another patient, but I’ll be happy to go over a few things with you in the meantime.”

Nurse Burbage explained that Crowley had a concussion. It was mild enough to not be of too much concern, but still worth monitoring, along with further testing. There appeared to be injury to his back and side as well, and they were erring on the side of caution to monitor his urine output for blood or other issues. His right ankle and foot appeared to be sprained, but there were discussions of possible x-rays now that he was awake. Overall, they were generally not too worried, but given his medical history and the nature of the attack, there was enough potential that the next few days would see a series of CT scans, x-rays, and other lab work.

Once the nurse left, Crowley and Aziraphale sat together quietly for several minutes.

“I…” Aziraphale blew a breath out through pursed lips. He wasn’t sure how to go about this, or even if he should, but he would try his best to push through. “I _know_ what we’ve discussed, about needing a little distance while we work on things, but—”

“Could you stay with me, please?” Crowley interrupted, gently looking up at him with pleading eyes. “I really, uh, I’d really like it if you could stay. I don’t,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know if it’s what happened or the fact that I haven’t been actually alone in weeks, or what, but I _really_ don’t want to be alone right now.”

Aziraphale reached over to gently swipe a thumb across Crowley’s cheek, disposing of the solitary tear that had found its way down his face.

“You don’t have to, though,” Crowley continued, eyes closed as he leaned into the touch. “I know you’re quite busy lately, and—”

“Shh,” Aziraphale hushed him. “None of that, now. I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“We’ll figure out tomorrow when we get there,” Aziraphale said reassuringly.

There was a light tapping at the door. “Am I interrupting anything?” Louis’s voice came quietly from the crack in the door, not quite opening it.

Aziraphale looked questioningly at Crowley, who nodded. “It’s fine, come in,” Aziraphale called out.

“How is the patient?” Louis asked.

“Extraordinarily tired of being in a hospital bed _already_ ,” Crowley replied with a frustrated growl. “But at least I don’t have to sit here all alone.”

Louis looked between the two of them. “You’re staying with him tonight, then?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Those don’t look at all comfortable for sleeping. Did you bring a change of clothes?”

“I, um, I was in a bit of a rush on the way here, unfortunately. Came straight from work as soon as I knew. Didn’t have time to pack a bag. I don’t even have my phone. I left it charging at reception upstairs.

“I see,” Louis said, pulling his phone out of his jacket. He tapped at it, glanced up at Aziraphale for a moment, tilting his head, then tapped a few more times before putting the phone back into his pocket. “So,” he continued, smiling at Crowley. “What did the doctor say?”

The three of them spent the next half hour discussing what Nurse Burbage had to say, along with the way things had happened in the past hospital stays, as best as they could recall.

A nurse popped her head in. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but we need to check vitals and change a few things out. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, please.”

“Would it be all right if my husband could stay?” Crowley asked.

Louis shot a quick look at Aziraphale, mouthing, “ _I told you so.”_

“Yes, of course, Mr. Crowley, if you’d like,” she said.

“Actually, Crowley, if you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow your angel for a just a few minutes to speak with him about a private matter. Would you be all right with that? We’d only be just outside of the door.”

Crowley looked between the two of them, silently trying to decide if Aziraphale wanted him to say yes or no. “Well, if you’ll be just outside, I suppose—”

“Excellent, thank you. We’ll be back,” Louis said, motioning for Aziraphale to follow him out the door.

Once they were outside, Louis pulled his phone out of his jacket. “I’ve spoken with Beelz,” Louis began, tapping on his phone. “They asked that I let you know they appreciate you making sure they were kept up to date. While I was there, I let them know about the requests that would be coming from my legal team. Since they knew I would eventually be seeing the footage regardless, they forwarded a copy to my team, of which I am about to show you.”

“I don’t think I should see this without Crowley seeing it first,” Aziraphale said uneasily.

“I’ve already seen it, and I disagree with you. I don’t think he’s going to be ready to see this, not for a while, anyway. But you and I are going to need to be able to answer questions for him, to try to help him make sense of things. Now, if you don’t want to view this because you personally don’t think you can handle it, I won’t press you to do so. I would understand that. Otherwise, I think Crowley needs to _know_ what happened, but it would be in Crowley’s best interest not to _see_ this right now.”

“Are you suggesting I view this and tell him what happened if he wants to know?”

“I am. But if that is too much for you, I don’t mind explaining it to you both instead. But I wanted to give you the opportunity to see for yourself,” Louis said gently.

Aziraphale took a deep breath in, blowing it out in a measured exhale. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll watch.”

Louis held his phone up where he had cued up the video and pressed the play icon.

Aziraphale could hear the music as Crowley played the piano. His heart sank as the shadow crept up behind Crowley. Aziraphale felt sick as he watched the fear pass over Crowley’s eyes when Gabe’s hand tightened into his hair before whispering into his ear and dragging him up off of the bench. Crowley stumbled when Gabe stomped against the outside of Crowley’s right ankle, coming down on his foot and toes. Aziraphale let out a small gasp and covered his mouth when Gabe slammed Crowley’s head against the wall.

Aziraphale watched helplessly as Crowley went completely still and slid down the wall. If he hadn’t been speaking with Crowley only moments before, he would have feared the worst. Lying in a crumpled heap on his back, Gabe began kicking Crowley in the side, flipping him over.

There was a flash of blonde hair as a piano bench came crashing down heavily against Gabe’s back, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground. Gabe fought, slamming his arm against two of the bench legs, which broke off in the struggle. The bench pitched over harshly, landing on Gabe’s right arm with the full weight of Hal on top of it. There was a loud scream just before a group of security officers pulled Hal away.

Louis stopped the video. “Now you understand why he doesn’t need to see this yet.”

Aziraphale nodded mutely.

Eric walked up carrying two bags and a tray of paper cups.

“Excellent timing, as always,” Louis said, taking one of the bags from Eric’s hands. “Oh, good, I forgot to mention picking one of those up,” he said as he rummaged around in the bag to pull out Aziraphale’s phone. He handed it to Aziraphale. “You’ll find some comfortable clothing to sleep in, a tooth brush, and thanks to Eric’s keen thinking, a phone charger. It’s not fancy, I’m afraid, but it’s the finest the hospital gift shop has to offer.”

“Got you both a takeaway,” Eric said. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I just went with what Crowley usually gets. But if you don’t want it, I’ll get you something else.”

“No, no, that’s…” Aziraphale waved his hand, overwhelmed by everything happening all at once. “It’s wonderful what you’ve done. Thank you.”

“It’s getting late, and visiting hours are almost up. We’re going to go ahead and go,” Louis said. “But we’ll check back tomorrow, all right?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Have a good night,” Eric said as he and Louis turned to walk away.

Aziraphale knocked delicately, announcing himself to wait until he was invited into the room. “Our friends brought us dinner. Can he have something to eat?”

“That depends on what it—”

“It’s _kebabs_!” Crowley said with excitement. “I can smell them from here. I love kebabs. Say _yes_ , please. Lie to me if you have to.”

The nurse grinned. “As long as it’s not deep fried or too salty, it should be fine. Fresh veg and lean protein are good for your brain while you’re healing. You'll also want Omega 3’s, and such like.” She patted his knee gently. “Now remember what I told you. No television tonight. No screen time for now. We’ll see how it goes.”

Crowley whined. “And no magazines.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “We’ll see you in the morning, then. Get some rest.” She closed the door quietly behind her.

“Oh, Angel, please bring that bag over here. I’m _starving_.” Crowley said, his grabby-hands out and active. There were few things in Crowley’s life that a good kebab couldn’t improve upon.

Aziraphale pulled a box out of the bag, handing it to Crowley, who opened it with excitement. Aziraphale gasped as he saw Crowley reaching for the pomegranate arils scattered across the top.

“Wait!” Aziraphale said quickly.

“What?” Crowley asked, confused. “What’s wrong? I get this all the time.”

Aziraphale laughed at himself momentarily. “Nothing. I’m going to go change.” Aziraphale stepped into the wet room while Crowley tucked into his takeaway.

Crowley looked up from his food upon hearing Aziraphale’s groan through the door. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

“You all right in there, Angel?” Crowley asked through a mouthful of grilled tomato.

Aziraphale grunted. “It’s _fine_.”

When Aziraphale emerged from the wet room, Crowley nearly choked on a pepper with laughter. “ _What_ are you wearing?”

“Louis and Eric have seen fit, in their infinite kindness, to provide me with something to wear,” Aziraphale said, looking down at the bright red top and black bottoms covered in images of demonic rubber ducks. “Not really _me_ , though, is it?” He could only imagine the reaction he’d get if Crowley had seen the unopened package of boxers that had been included in the bag brought to him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley said, grinning as he chewed. “It’s doing something for _me_ , at least.” He pointed to the bag with the other box in it on the table above his bed. “Come eat. It’s delicious.”

“I don’t see how you can even taste it, as fast as you eat,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley gave a mocking grin while tearing a piece of naan. “What did you get?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the bag. “Eric said he got me whatever it is you have.”

“You are in for a treat. This is usually a lamb dish, but—”

“I thought you didn’t eat lamb because you think they’re wooly people.”

“I _don’t_ , and they _are_ wooly people. They have human-level intelligence and awareness, and sometimes they are gay. Anyway, I get the lamb replaced with chicken.”

“I still don’t understand why you can eat a chicken but won’t eat lamb.”

“Chickens are fuckers. A chicken will fight you.”

Aziraphale looked at him incredulously. “ _Why_ would you fight a chicken?”

“Sometimes the chicken gives you no choice, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what I expected,” he muttered, placing a smaller box on the table while removing the larger box. He paused, considering something. “Wait a moment. Are you saying you’ve fought a chicken?”

“Not _willingly_ ,” Crowley replied, blushing as he looked down at his food.

“A chicken, Crowley? Really?”

“Well, it’s not as if I could have _talked_ things out with it, now, could I? It was a chicken! They don’t listen to reason.”

Aziraphale stared at him in an attempt to process that statement. “How does that even happen?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said, aggressively stabbing his fork into the box. “I want to eat its brethren,” he said, taking a large bite. He chewed a few times before changing the subject. “What did Louis want? Or did he just want to bring you food and shame in the form of loud clothing?”

“Um…” Aziraphale said, placing the box down on the table while coming to a decision. He knew he had screwed things up in the past with this very subject, and he was determined not to make that same mistake again. No, this time, he was going to do what was best for Crowley without keeping him in the dark. “He… He showed me the footage of your attack.”

Crowley dropped his fork into his takeaway box. “Can I see it?”

“I don’t have it. Louis has it as part of the case his legal team is building against Gabe,” Aziraphale explained.

“Why would he show it to you and not to me?”

“He thinks that you aren’t ready to see it yet.”

“How would he know? He hasn’t even spoken to me since I woke up, other than a few sentences to let me know he was stepping away.”

“He knows what’s on the video, and if I’m being honest, after seeing it, I’m inclined to agree with him. You need some time before you see that.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Aziraphale, don’t do this to me again.”

Aziraphale’s voice remained calm and gentle. “I’m not. I won’t do that to you, not again. I thought about that. I’m going to tell you everything I know, all right?”

Aziraphale thought back to the first time Crowley had been in the hospital. He remembered when Crowley couldn’t take a walk down the hallway and reality had finally come crashing down around him. The anguish in his voice when Crowley had asked him to leave for a while broke his heart even now. “You have every right to know what happened, but _seeing_ it right now, I think it might be too much, at least, while you’re still in here.”

“Angel…”

“It’s out of my hands, but I’ll do what I can to make certain you will get an opportunity to view it, just not yet.” Aziraphale picked his phone up off of the table, flipped to the message he received from Enoch that morning, and handed it to Crowley. “I think we should begin with why he was there to begin with.”

Crowley reached out to take it, but dropped his hand. “I, um,” Crowley faltered, remembering what the nurse had told him. “I’m not supposed to be looking at screens right now. Might fuck with my head. Could you read it to me?” Crowley looked away with a sigh. “Guess I probably couldn’t have watched the video anyway.”

Aziraphale told Crowley how Gabe was remanded to the treatment center to await sentencing. He described the whole experience of rushing to the hospital to try to get to him in time. Aziraphale explained in as accurate, but gentle, detail as possible how the attack had occurred and how he had been found.

The two sat together in silence after everything had been said, finishing their dinner. It had grown dark outside, with minimal lighting in the room. Crowley’s eyes roamed up and down Aziraphale before he scooted over as much as he could without pain. He patted the bed beside him.

Aziraphale complied, standing up to walk over. He sat down carefully on the edge, minding any wires or tubes, and lie down next to Crowley, facing him.

“You tried to rescue me,” Crowley said softly.

“You sound surprised,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I don’t mean to,” Crowley said, touching Aziraphale’s face gently. “But knowing someone would do something isn’t the same as them actually _doing_ it.”

“I didn’t want anything to happen to you. You would have tried to do the same.”

“Probably,” Crowley agreed. “But you _did it_.”

“I failed,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I didn’t get there in time.” He was still kicking himself for not checking his text sooner. “You still got hurt.”

“You didn’t fail,” Crowley said, looking back and forth between Aziraphale’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.” He closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together.

“If I could have gotten there sooner…” Aziraphale said, gently tracing his fingers along the side of Crowley’s right arm, being careful not to disturb the tape.

“You said they weren’t listening. Didn’t matter that you told them or not. It was out of your hands.” Crowley’s nose brushed against Aziraphale’s cheek. “But you didn’t know they wouldn’t listen. You tried to rescue me.” Crowley’s lips ghosted delicately across Aziraphale’s own.

Aziraphale scooted closer, leaning over Crowley, closing his eyes to carefully deepen the kiss. His eyes flew open wide when he felt the fingers of Crowley’s left hand slide underneath his waistband. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you my appreciation,” Crowley whispered.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aziraphale said. “You don’t owe me anything, especially not that.”

“I know I don’t have to do anything. I _want_ to, unless you don’t want it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale huffed. “But it’s not something I _expect_.”

“Would you like to?” Crowley asked, biting his lip.

“But you’re all connected to things. You can’t even _do_ anything right now!” Aziraphale argued.

“I can do _this_ ,” Crowley said, reaching his left hand into Aziraphale’s boxers to squeeze gently.

Aziraphale gasped at the combination of shock and sensation. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Crowley…”

“Angel, giving you a handy isn’t going to hurt me,” Crowley said with a grin as he felt the twitch beneath his hand. “And if it does, I’ll stop.”

“What if someone comes in to check on you?”

“No one is coming until the morning. Well, _almost_ no one,” he said with a grin as his hand began to move. “Did clean underthings happen to be included in what Louis and Eric gave you?”

Aziraphale groaned, leaning his head down on Crowley’s left shoulder. “Yes.” At this rate, he was going to have to wear those god-awful boxers after all.

The fingers of Crowley’s right hand combed through Aziraphale’s hair while his left hand worked him over. “Shh… I’ve got you, Angel. Just relax. Can’t be too loud, now.”

Aziraphale lifted his head up to bring their lips together again, muffling his own sounds against Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley slid his thumb up to gather the precum to aid in the slide of his hand as he increased speed and pressure. Aziraphale’s hips started to buck gently along with the motion, fucking into Crowley’s fist. Crowley pulled his head back momentarily. “Be still or I’ll have to stop, okay? You’re gonna knock into my leg.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and muttered an apology, trying to hold himself still under Crowley’s sinful hand. He leaned his head down, breathing hard against Crowley’s left ear.

“That’s right, Angel. You have to be still and quiet, but I still want to hear you. I want to hear how much you enjoy it, just like when you’ve done this to me. I see why you like it so much now.” Crowley worked his hand faster as the breathing in his ear grew harder. “Are you going to come for me, Angel?”

Aziraphale nodded with a low whining growl. He was determined to be good. If Crowley wanted him to be still, he’d be still. And if Crowley wanted him to come, he’d…

_Fuck_.

Aziraphale threw his head back, eyes clenched shut. He nearly pulled the fitted sheet off of the mattress, but he was as quiet about it as he could as wet heat spilled over Crowley’s fingers. Crowley stroked a few more times as the waves hit, right hand guiding Aziraphale’s head back within reach for another kiss as Aziraphale shook beneath his left hand.

After several minutes, Aziraphale gently pulled Crowley’s left hand out. “Hold on,” Aziraphale said, somehow managing to find his own feet to stumble to the wet room for a flannel. He came back to wipe Crowley’s hand clean before returning to clean himself up and change boxers.

When he came back out into the room, Crowley was grinning at him. “What?” Aziraphale asked.

“Show me.”

“What are you on about?” Aziraphale asked.

“Show me the monstrosity that had you groaning before I had even gotten started. Show me what you’ve got on under there,” Crowley said, pointing to the pajama bottoms.

Reluctantly, Aziraphale turned around, lowering his waistband to his thighs.

Crowley let out a quiet bark of laughter as the tiny army of angelic rubber ducks stared back at him from their positions across Aziraphale’s backside. “You absolutely must wear these for me more often, Angel.”

Aziraphale took Thursday off. He hadn’t had any plans, anyway, and apparently, Enoch had already explained to the rest of the staff at Vox Dei that neither of them would be in for the rest of the week. Aziraphale spent the day with Crowley in the hospital room, looking for creative ways to entertain a person who couldn’t watch tv, play video games, or read magazines.

On this day, Crowley truly understood the meaning of the term _captive audience._

Crowley groaned at the wild look on Aziraphale’s face as it popped back up over the edge of the mattress from where the angel had been crawling around the floor to find the coin he had dropped. “Don’t do your magic act. Please. I am actually _begging_ you, and you have no idea how demeaning that is. Please. I can’t leave. I am literally tethered here.”

Aziraphale reached behind Crowley’s ear. “Whaaaaaa!” He whispered breathily as he pulled his hand back, brandishing the coin. “Magic!”

Crowley looked at him flatly. “It was in your finger.”

“No, it was in your ear,” Aziraphale argued.

Crowley sighed. “It was in your pocket, and then it—”

“It was _close_ to your ear.”

“It was never _anywhere_ near my ear. The closest it came to my ear was the sound it made as it bounced around on the floor under the bed.”

“You are no fun,” Aziraphale pouted.

“Fun? It’s humiliating. I don’t go around plucking spare change from my ears. I keep it in my pocket so it doesn’t disappear.”

“But that’s not as fun,” Aziraphale extended the pout further.

“I’ll make _you_ disappear.”

Aziraphale gasped scandalously. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Crowley admitted under apparent duress. “I’d miss you too much.”

“Actually, I was going to say it’s because you don’t know magic,” Aziraphale grinned wickedly.

“Neither do you,” Crowley said, matter of factly.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in a glare. “Chicken fighter.”

Friday morning required Aziraphale to leave, at least for a couple of hours. He had an appointment with Maud at 10:00, and they both decided that it would be for the best that Aziraphale didn’t break his appointment. He had quite a bit to share with her, after all, just from the time since his previous appointment.

As it turned out, Deirdre would be coming to his room for the one-on-one with Crowley that morning at 11:30. It was important to continue the therapy even while he was in another area of the hospital, especially after all he had been through, she said.

This gave Aziraphale some time to kill after his own appointment. He went to his flat to pack a bag and grab a few things. He decided to bring a few books he thought Crowley might like. If Crowley couldn’t read, Aziraphale could read _to_ him. He also found his old mp3 player and headphones, thinking maybe Crowley might like to listen to music. He packed a deck of cards as well, for tradition. He stopped on the way for a nice pair of sunglasses to help with the light sensitivity that Crowley was dealing with as well.

Aziraphale had just returned to the hospital room to hand Crowley the bag of distractions when his phone rang. “It’s Enoch. I need to take this,” he said. Crowley nodded and waved him off as he fiddled with untangling the headphones Aziraphale had brought him.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale,” Enoch began. “Are you terribly busy this afternoon?”

“Not _terribly_ so, no, but I was actually visiting,” Aziraphale caught himself with a pause as he glanced over at Crowley before turning around. “A friend who is sick.”

Enoch noticed the pause. “Ah. That wouldn’t be your lady friend, would it? Titania, I believe was her name?”

Aziraphale laughed uncomfortably. “Yes, that would be the one,” he replied.

“Pity that she’s ill again so soon after the last time,” Enoch stated.

Aziraphale hadn’t spoken to Enoch about Crowley at all, and _definitely_ hadn’t called him Titania to anyone other than his step-brother. _I suppose Gabe must have said something,_ he thought. “Yes, quite.”

“I hate to ask, but your mother is quite insistent. Would you possibly be able to meet with a client at 2:00 to go over a contract? It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two of your time, if you didn’t mind coming in a little earlier to familiarize yourself with the paperwork. Your mother has some errands she needs to run and has asked me to come with her.”

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. Ultimately, he decided he could spare an hour or two to help his mother and step father out. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there,” he said before ending the call.

Crowley looked up.

“I’ve got to go handle something for work,” Aziraphale explained. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours. You don’t mind, do you?”

Crowley shook his head, putting the headphones on. “Are you still here?”

Aziraphale laughed, pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, and headed out the door.

Aziraphale sat in Enoch’s office when the main line rang. The client needed to reschedule for another time, and would call back the next day to speak with Enoch do so.

Relieved, Aziraphale sent a text.

> **The client needs  
>  to reschedule.  
>  Expect a call  
>  about that  
>  tomorrow.**
> 
> **Is everything  
>  all right?**
> 
> **Yes. They  
>  forgot about  
>  a dental appt.  
>  I’ll be heading  
>  out.**
> 
> **Back to your  
>  Titania, then?**
> 
> **😊** **Yes.**
> 
> **Bring her  
>  flowers. Your  
> mother loves  
> flowers when  
> she’s ill.**
> 
> **Excellent idea!  
>  I believe I will!**   
>    
> 

Crowley, in an effort to take the directions seriously, was wearing the sunglasses Aziraphale brought him while blindly flipping through the songs on the mp3 player rather than looking at the screen.

_In this age of grand illusion  
You walked into my life  
Out of my dreams  
I don't need another change  
Still you forced your way  
Into my scheme of things_

Crowley liked this song. It made him think of Aziraphale. If he were being honest, though, _all_ songs did in _some_ way. But if he were _truly_ being honest, there was someone else he thought of when he heard this song, someone he hadn’t seen in many years and missed _desperately_.

_Just because I believe, don't mean I don't think as well  
Don't have to question everything  
In heaven or hell_

Crowley leaned back into his pillow to listen. So much had changed in his life. If he allowed himself to think about it for too long, he’d have to realize the main constant in his life had been change itself. Even when he was a small child, things changed, over and over again.

_Sweet name, you're born once again for me  
Just as long as I can see, I'll never stop this vision flowing  
I look twice and you're still flowing  
Just as long as I can walk  
I'll walk beside you, I'm alive in you_

Crowley knew the story his mother told him, about how she had found him when he was maybe only a few days old. That was the _first_ time he had been thrown away. But she made him feel as though she had found a priceless treasure. “I will always be with you,” she had told him. “I found you because you needed me, but I loved you because I needed _you_.”

_  
Sweet name, you're born once again for me  
And I'm ready to shape the scheme of things_

Crowley wondered when the last time he had truly thought about his mother had been. He remembered her, of course. Who could forget someone like that? She was a force of nature like none other. In all of Crowley’s life, no one could ever compare to the spark she had, though he hoped he could come close. He wondered if she ever made it to Heaven. “Wouldn’t _that_ be funny,” he laughed, looking up. “Ashtoreth L. Crowley, raising Hell in Heaven.”

_Lord, I kneel and offer you  
My word on a wing  
And I'm trying hard to fit among  
Your scheme of things_

He smiled with a tear in his eye. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy. I’m getting there,” Crowley spoke to the ceiling. “I’ve got someone in my life now. You’d like him. He’s an angel, too. I know he’d love you if he had ever gotten to meet you. He needs someone to love him like you loved me.” Crowley sighed heavily. “And I’m trying, but I’m struggling. Not with loving him. I mean, in general. But I’m trying to be better. It’s hard sometimes, though. I worry about him to the point of distraction.”

_It's safer than a strange land  
But I still care for myself  
And I don't stand in my own light_

“I wish you were still here. We _both_ need you.” Crowley closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows once more.

_  
Lord, Lord, My prayer flies  
Like a word on a wing  
My prayer flies  
Like a word on a wing_

Crowley jumped when he opened his eyes to see a man and a woman standing in his doorway.

_Does my prayer fit in  
With your scheme of things?_

He pulled the headphones off. “Hi,” he said, confused. “Can I help you?”

“Terribly sorry to have startled you,” the woman said kindly. “We knocked, but…”

“Oh, right.” Crowley looked down at the headphones in his hand. “Sorry about that. Who are you?”

Crowley thought, for a brief moment, that he might have recognized them. The moment passed quickly, as he was quite used to that. It was a common enough occurrence. More often than not, he simply recognized someone who would toss a coin to their busker, if they had plenty.

“We—”

“We just wanted to check on you,” she said quickly before the man beside her could finish his sentence. “We heard about what happened and we wanted to see if there was anything we could do for _you_.”

Crowley’s brows furrowed as his head cocked to the side. “What do you mean?”

“We wanted to know if maybe you might need anything, help with medical care, maybe a donation to your preferred charity. Just something to help make what must obviously be a terrible time more bearable for you.”

“Are you some sort of social workers?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes,” the woman said with a smile. “But we aren’t affiliated with any particular organization.” She turned to the man beside her. “Give him a card, won’t you, my dear?”

Crowley smiled. Whenever someone said _my dear_ , it always made him think of Aziraphale.

The man reached into his pocket, fishing around. “I don’t believe I have any with me, I’m afraid. I’ll just write our numbers down for you before we leave, shall I?”

Crowley, catching a shadow underneath the partially open door, turned his head. “Angel!” He smiled as Aziraphale poked his head in through the door on his way in with a bouquet.

“I got done early. I’ve brought you some—"

The couple turned around. “Aziraphale?” They both said, surprised.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in fear as he jumped back through the door. He bumped into a nurse, dropping the flowers before taking off in a run down the hall.

The woman turned back to face Crowley. “How do you know my son?”

Crowley’s blood ran cold. Were it not for the monitors going off denoting the spike in his pulse rate, he might have thought his heart had stopped.

“No, no, nonono!” He growled, pulling wires and tubes from his skin as he struggled to get up. He had to get to Aziraphale.

He made it all the way into the hallway, hobbling as best he could while carrying his infamous _piss bag_ before he collapsed. Even still, it took a team of nurses to drag him back into his bed, able to connect him back to his monitors only due to pure exhaustion and the pain radiating from his ankle.

Gia whispered to Enoch, “Go find him.” She turned to see the fallen bouquet on the floor. Picking it up, she looked it over to ensure nothing was damaged. Brushing her fingertips gently over the flowers to straighten a few bent petals, she re-entered the hospital room.

“You called him Angel,” she said, placing the bouquet of red, white, and orange roses on Crowley’s lap.

“Oh, well, uh, that’s,” Crowley sputtered helplessly, “That’s because he _is_ one, isn’t he?” Crowley looked at the bouquet as if it were a threat. _Roses_ , he thought. _Why did it have to be roses? I could explain away daisies, or even yellow roses, but not this mix._ Crowley wondered if he could simply ignore the bouquet and it wouldn’t come up again.

“I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve ended up in a hospital bed like this,” Crowley quickly continued to explain, babbling nervously to fill any blank spaces with his own voice. “He found me last time and brought me here. I was kind of out of it, you know how head wounds can be. Well, maybe you do, maybe you don’t. I really don’t know anything about you, so I suppose I shouldn’t really… uh… I shouldn’t assume. Point is, they do things to a person.”

“A-anyway,” Crowley continued, barely pausing for breath between his words so as to not allow any gaps for interjections, “I thought I was dead at first, as one does, and that he was an angel come to take me to wherever it is people like me end up. Well, it probably wouldn’t have been an angel for that, but I was pretty out of it, so that didn’t occur to me then. I, uh, I couldn’t remember his name after he told me, so I just called him an angel, on… On account of him saving me.” It was the truth, technically, which was good. He was so exhausted and sore. He didn’t believe he could think clearly enough or fast enough to keep up with a lie.

“You’re Titania.”

“What?” Crowley's nose scrunched up in confusion. He truly had _no idea_ what she was talking about.

Gia traced her fingertips along the edge of the paper that wrapped the bouquet before turning her eyes upon Crowley. “Are you involved with my son?”

Crowley swallowed nervously, trying his best to look anywhere _but_ at the flowers or into her eyes. “He brought me to the hospital before, I, I _told_ you.” That was _close_ , but also, still the truth.

Her eyes narrowed as she carefully considered her next words, having recognized something. “Your hair is a lovely shade of red.”

“Thank you. I grow it myself,” he said quickly.

She lifted the flowers to sniff them. “Have you ever worn it long?”

Surprised by the question, Crowley nodded. That was simple enough. Not the kind of thing he was going to screw up. It was just hair. “Usually do. I actually cut it just over a month past.”

“What color is Aziraphale’s piano?”

“Rosewood.” He cringed, clenching his fist and gritting out an expletive between his teeth. He knew he had fucked up, and royally so. He covered his face in his hands. _Oh,_ he thought to himself _. I can’t believe I just said that._ “I saw a picture,” he mumbled from behind his hands in a pitiful attempt to salvage his error.

“I don’t think that’s the truth, Mr. Crowley. Or should I be calling you Anthony?”

He lowered his hands to look at her with miserable eyes that couldn’t quite meet her own. “I go by Crowley,” he said as he looked at her cheek instead of her eyes, his chin quivering slightly. “And nothing I’ve told you was a lie,” he said plaintively, shaking his head slowly side to side for emphasis. “I _did_ see a picture of the piano. He showed me a photo of Michael teaching him to play.”

Gia’s eyes were keen as she tilted her head to look him over. Crowley felt as if he were being scrutinized by God herself.

“So, you know Michael?” She asked with a hint of a smirk.

_Shit, shit, shit, stop talking!_

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

“She didn’t teach him to play until he was a teenager, but all those photographs are gone.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as her voice lowered. “How did _you_ see one?”

Crowley looked at her with confusion once more. “He has at least half a dozen photo albums _full_ of pictures of things like that. He doesn’t like for people to look at them, but he showed them to me anyway.” _Oh, for fuck’s sake. There’s no backpedaling from that one,_ he thought. _What do they have me on right now? I thought I couldn’t have anything that would make me act like… like…_ He sighed, biting his lip _. Oh, right. It’s not medication. I am simply an **extremely** awkward person who possibly just outed his husboyfriend or whatever it is to his own moth—_

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “All this time, I thought he had been destroying them. Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly. “You know, I’ve had my suspicions about all of this for quite some time.”

Crowley drew in a sharp breath. _Oh, **fuck**. I **did**. I did that. I **did** out him._ _She **knows,**_ he thought _. Just own it and start damage control._ “ _Please_ , don’t hate him. Don’t turn him away because of me. It wasn’t… I, I shouldn’t have said anything at all. But he loves you _so_ much. It would _kill_ him if you turned your back on him.”

“I rather thought he had already turned his back on _me_ ,” she said, quietly, looking away.

“It was never about _you_ , I don’t think.” Crowley’s eyes darted around as if searching for the right words to say. Unable to find them, he shrugged nervously, shaking his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t really talk about… “ His voice trailed off, realizing her conflict of interest between Aziraphale and Gabe. It was _shit_ , but it really _was_ complicated. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, so I really don’t know much of anything about the details. But I know he loves you, m-misses you. He _does_ say that.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” she said.

Crowley bristled slightly. “To be fair, he hasn’t exactly felt very welcome in your home.”

Gia looked up with sorrowful eyes. “What?”

“Seems to me the only thing that has been tolerated there is the sort of hatred that landed me in here.” Crowley regarded her through his sunglasses. “ _Again_.”

“I can assure you—”

“No, you _can’t_.” Crowley was _angry_. “Your son is made of love, but it has been so twisted and warped by things that have happened to him in places where you could have stopped it. Maybe not all of it, but if you truly didn’t believe the things Gabe talked about, you should have _said something_.”

Crowley’s nostrils flared. He was in too deep now. Might as well get it all out. “You say you suspected this all along? Well, that’s even _worse_. Even if you couldn’t have said anything where Gabe could hear, you should have pulled Aziraphale to the side and _told him_ you thought it was bollocks what Gabe was saying. Have you _any idea_ what that did to Aziraphale to have to listen to that? He says it’s fine, but Michael has even noticed it, and it makes her uncomfortable on his behalf.”

Crowley realized he was shaking, but he didn’t care. “That man has put your son through Hell for over two decades, and you could have put a stop to it, but you didn’t. And now he’s run off and I don’t know where he is or if he’s all right, or—”

“I really thought I raised my children better than that,” she said with a frown.

That flew through Crowley. “Now, you hold on one goddamned minute. You’re not going to speak of _either_ of them that way, but especially not him, not to me. I don’t care _who_ you are. I won’t stand for it.” 

Gia drew her head back, brows raised, as she listened on with surprise.

“If you fucked up, that’s on _you_. Don’t you _dare_ blame him for being afraid to be around you, because that says much more about you than it does _him_.”

Gia was burdened by that last part, though she appreciated it all the same. “On that, we agree, my dear,” she said. “I did not intend for it to sound as if I held either of them accountable for _my_ actions. On the contrary. I’m proud of who they have become in spite of them.” She smiled softly at Crowley. “I thought I was doing right by them, but I see now that I could have done more.”

“You still could, you know,” Crowley said slightly softer, though still on guard.

“You aren’t shy at all, are you?”

“Depends on who you ask, really. Or _what_ you ask. But I’ll stand up for him every time.”

She looked him up and down, appraisingly. “You love him.”

“More than anything,” Crowley said without hesitation.

“How long has this been going on?”

“You know, I _really_ think you should be talking to Aziraphale about this, not me,” Crowley said, not wanting to contradict anything Aziraphale might have to say.

“He’s not here right now, but _you_ are. You don’t have to tell me his secrets. I’m asking about _you_ ,” Gia said, gently but firmly as she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Though I do hope I’ll get the chance to speak with him as well.”

“It’s complicated, and there are some parts that I don’t feel comfortable talking about,” Crowley said quietly.

“Okay,” Gia nodded. “How about this, then? How long have you loved him?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, his face constricting into a grimace. “Might have been since I opened my eyes behind the dumpster where he found me the first time I ended up here.”

Crowley explained what happened and how they met. She smiled as he told her about getting to know one another inside of the hospital, and how he had spent a fortnight searching every restaurant in London until he found his Cinderfella. Crowley reiterated that anything beyond that was going to have to wait until she spoke with Aziraphale, but that was how their story began.

Gia told him that she and Enoch had heard from their legal team that Gabe had attacked him twice, and that was why they had come to the hospital to check on Crowley. They had been advised against it, but both Gia and Enoch felt it was their duty to reach out to him as the victim that survived, and to try to make things right by any means possible.

Crowley was quiet for a few minutes. “If you want to make things right with me, you’ll fix things with Aziraphale,” he said.

“I intended to try to do that whether or not you requested it.”

“Good,” Crowley said.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, but Gia could tell Crowley wanted to ask her something. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what he could possibly want to ask that he was too shy to say, given the way he had been speaking to her earlier.

“You have a question,” she said.

“ _Weeeellll_ ,” he drew out the word in a high-pitched drawl. “ _Yes_ , but it’s not important.”

“Ask.”

Crowley pressed his lips tightly together, dimpling his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “How is it that you and Gabe have American accents, but Aziraphale and your husband are British? That’s… It’s mixed up.”

Gia laughed out loud. “That’s because I was born in Illinois. I came here when I met Aziraphale’s father. Enoch has always traveled back and forth for business. He met Gabe’s mother while he was in the states.”

Crowley nodded. “Oh,” he said quietly.

They both looked up at the sound of the door opening. Enoch walked in with Aziraphale sheepishly following behind. Unable to look anyone in the eye, he simply stood there in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, eyes downcast.

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice faltered slightly. “Are you okay? I was worried about you.”

Aziraphale nodded, but remained where he was.

Gia stood up. She walked across the room towards Aziraphale, stopping before him. Placing her hands on either side of his head, she lifted his face up to look into his eyes, but he was still looking down. “Aziraphale, I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “For everything. Can you ever forgive me?”

Aziraphale lifted his eyes to meet hers with a shuddering inhale.

Gia wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I love you,” she said as he returned her embrace. “Exactly as you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Normally, I would have chopped a monster chapter like this in half, but I really wanted to get these things out in one chapter. 
> 
> Okay, so I saw this BTS picture and immediately my brain screamed at me. "OH MY GOD IT IS GABE AND SANDY ON THE ARMAGEDDON TOUR!!!! And Aziraphale had to take the picture!"  
> Please note the boarded up windows on that van and think disturbing thoughts with me!


	37. They Yearn For What They Fear For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two souls in discordant harmonies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from, you guessed it, Dante.
> 
> CW for panic attack.

“Someone tried to run away, did they?” A nurse said, entering the room with an empty wheelchair.

“No, no, I didn’t try to run away,” Crowley said.

“You ended up in the floor out in the hallway.”

“W-w-well, yes. But, I, uh, I wasn’t trying to run away, I was trying to catch up—”

“ _I’m_ the one who ran away. He was trying to stop me,” Aziraphale said quietly.

The nurse smiled at the group uncomfortably before turning back to Crowley. “Right. Because you fell, I’ve come to collect you for some x-rays and other tests.” He moved towards the bed to begin detaching Crowley from the monitors.

Crowley groaned. “I think you all enjoy this entirely too much,” he said to the nurse, who simply grinned. Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. “Why don’t you lot go somewhere to talk while I’m busy?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. Quickly, he began to stammer out a decline. “I, eh, um, I, uh—”

“Please?” Gia asked, placing her hand on Aziraphale’s arm. “Please, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale shot one last pleading look towards Crowley.

“I’m guessing I’ll be otherwise engaged for the next few hours, will I?” Crowley asked the nurse helping him into the wheelchair.

“I’m afraid so, yes,” he confirmed.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and mouthed, “Take your time and talk to your mother.”

Aziraphale deflated slightly, but turned a small, resigned smile towards his mother. “All right.

Crowley was asleep by the time Aziraphale returned. Quietly, he slipped into the wet room to shower and change, then went to relax in the chair and pinch his hair so as not to disturb Crowley. He had just closed his eyes when he heard a soft voice calling out to him.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened to see warm amber gazing back at him in the dim light. Crowley scooted over slightly and pulled the blanket back. Aziraphale stood up from his chair and climbed into the bed. Crowley snuggled up against Aziraphale’s back, right hand resting on Aziraphale’s hip, and went back to sleep.

 _There are not enough words in this world to express how much I love you,_ Aziraphale thought to himself as he listened to the rhythmic breathing behind him. _Were they enough,_ _I would give you words to explain all of the ways you’ve made my life better, bigger, and brighter._ _But I’ve been collecting as many as I can for you. Maybe someday, you’ll read them so you’ll know._

_Maybe someday, I’ll deserve you_

Gently, he looped his pinky around the thumb against his hip and went to sleep.

“Your little stunt yesterday just bought you a few weeks in a walking boot,” Dr. Shem explained, looking at Crowley harshly. “What were you _thinking_ , running off like that?”

“That was my fault,” Aziraphale said guiltily. “I’m the reason it happened.”

The doctor turned his head from Crowley to Aziraphale. “Oh, how very _noble_ of you. But it doesn’t matter _who_ did _what_. Mr. _Crowley_ exacerbated the fracture by trying to run on it yesterday.” Dr. Shem gave a sigh of concerned irritation as he looked back to Crowley. “You asked me before how long it would be until you could get back to your dance troupe with that ankle. At the time, it was barely a fracture. But that’s all changed now, hasn’t it?”

Crowley fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was not particularly fond of this orthopedic doctor. He had hoped Dr. Japheth would come back next time. Dr. Japheth had been very kind.

“As of now, you’ve effectively doubled the recovery time before you can be back on your feet properly. Not much dancing you can do without both feet.”

“Still got one of them,” Crowley mumbled.

The doctor quirked an eyebrow. “ _Don’t_ do it again.” He handed some papers to Aziraphale. “Make yourself useful. He’s not supposed to be reading, either. Read this over so you’ll understand his limitations. I’ll be back later if either of you have any questions.”

They watched as the doctor reached for the door.

“Oi, Shem!” Crowley called out, causing the doctor to turn around.

“Yes?”

“Tell Dr. Japheth I miss him.”

Dr. Shem grinned. “If you think Dr. Japheth isn’t going to tell you that you were being stupid, you’re wrong. Dr. Japheth will yell at you _more_ than I will. He was only nice before because your injury wasn’t your fault. But this one? This is entirely of your own doing, and I have no problem saying so. We _both_ want you to get better, and that’s not going to happen if you keep on doing stupid things.”

“Clearly, you know nothing about me, because I excel at stupid things,” Crowley said with a smirk.

“Then I’ll just have to keep yelling to keep you from doing more damage to yourself.” Dr. Shem sighed and walked back over to the bed. “I’m going to level with you, all right? I don’t want to be mean to you, but I need you to understand that you have to be careful, possibly more careful than the average person. Between your kidney issues compromising your healing and your concussion affecting your balance, you could really hurt yourself in big, permanent ways. None of us want that. There’s only one you, and our job is to keep you alive and well to weather the storm.”

“I want to be cross with you, but it’s difficult when you say things like that,” Crowley pouted.

Dr. Shem scoffed. “Be angry. I don’t care. Just don’t be _stupid_.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said. “That helps.”

Aziraphale grinned quietly as he watched the doctor leave the room. He was forever amused by Crowley’s sense of humor.

“You know,” Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale, “We still haven’t talked about _that_ yet.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. Crowley didn’t have to explicitly state what he was referring to. Aziraphale knew. He couldn’t look Crowley in the eye. “I know. I’m so sorry,” he said, sniffling.

“Hey,” Crowley said, reaching his arms out towards Aziraphale. “Come here.”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before going to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Crowley pulled his head down onto his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale to gently stroke his hair. “I’m not upset with you for what happened yesterday, all right?”

“You _should_ be,” Aziraphale mumbled into the collar of Crowley’s hospital gown. “ _I’m_ upset with me.”

“I can’t speak for you, of course,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s hair, gently pressing a kiss upon it. “But as far as I’m concerned, I know _why_ you did it, and I understand. I _get_ it. I know what you went through, and I know how much it hurt you.”

Aziraphale lifted his head to look Crowley in the eyes. “But I left you here.”

“I was _already_ here, and I was fine. _You_ were the one who wasn’t okay. And do you know how I knew that?”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly.

“I knew,” Crowley wiped a tear from Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb, “Because you _told_ me. You told me all about what you had gone through for the last twenty-something years, and how scared you’ve been.” Crowley looked him in the eyes, smiling reassuringly. “I don’t blame you one bit.”

“You don’t?” Aziraphale’s voice was small, but hopeful.

“Nope,” Crowley said, leaning in for a quick peck of the lips. “In fact, I _may_ have told your mother off on your behalf,” Crowley said with a small laugh at the sight of Aziraphale’s reaction.

“You didn’t!” Aziraphale didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I _did_ , and she _agreed_ with me.”

Aziraphale leaned back into Crowley’s shoulder. “She liked you, you know.”

“I liked her, too. Well, _after_ I cussed her out, anyway,” Crowley mused.

Aziraphale shot back up. “What?”

“She took it like a _champ_ ,” Crowley grinned, amused to no end.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed as he pursed his lips and let out a huff of breath.

“Come back here, you,” Crowley said, reaching his arms back around Aziraphale. “I’m not done comforting you yet.”

“I should be the one comforting _you_ ,” Aziraphale said.

“You _are_. You’re _here_. You’ve _been_ here. Means a lot, actually,” Crowley explained. “You don’t even realize how much, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I figure you’d be tired of me by now.”

“On the contrary, I want _more_ of you. As much as you’re willing to give me. It’s so much better than being caught alone in the dark.”

Aziraphale, fearing Crowley didn’t want to hear yet another apology, simply wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Makes a difference, doesn’t it? Letting me know what’s going on?”

Aziraphale nodded pitifully. Just because he knew Crowley was both right and not trying to make him feel bad about it didn’t mean he _wouldn’t_ feel bad about having hidden so much in the past. But he was working on that. They both were. “It’s getting better?”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah. You still have a lot of work to do, and I know I _definitely_ do, but we’ll get there.”

They sat together, peacefully enjoying each other’s company until Crowley’s curiosity got to him. “What happened when Enoch found you?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale began, sitting up. “He started out by telling me he was, and I quote, ‘ _fine with the gays_.”

“How _kind_ ,” Crowley replied with a shake of his head.

“You’d have to know him, but that really _was_. It was practically a grand gesture on his part.” Aziraphale cleared his throat uncomfortably. “But it wasn’t until he told me you tried to run after me, and had collapsed into the floor, that I came back.”

“I’m glad you came back,” Crowley whispered.

“Me, too,” Aziraphale whispered back.

Aziraphale had an appointment with Maud that afternoon. He had just returned, having stopped along the way to pick up lunch for the two of them, to find a nurse showing Crowley how to work the straps on his new walking boot. He stood in the doorway, holding a takeaway bag, watching them.

“You can loosen them a bit for sleeping, but you’ll need to keep it on. When you’re walking, make sure you have them tight enough without being too tight, just like this,” she said. “You’re going to need to make sure you don’t put too much weight on your boot right now, so I want you to practice walking how I showed you with the cane, all right?”

Crowley nodded, taking the silver cane from the nurse’s hand before standing up.

The bag in Aziraphale’s hand fell to the floor. Aziraphale felt light-headed at the sight of Crowley leaning on a cane.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was full of concern as Aziraphale stumbled past him into the wet room.

“Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Not feeling well.” He closed the door behind him and sank to the floor, shaking.

_It’s not Raphael. It’s not the same. This isn’t… It… It’s not Raphael._

Aziraphale, feeling sick to his stomach, crawled over to the toilet just in case.

“That’s _Crowley_ , that’s _not_ Raphael,” Aziraphale whispered to himself, shaking. Eyes closed, he leaned his cheek against the cool tile on the wall. “Crowley is fine. It’s just his ankle, and it isn’t permanent. He’s going to be fine. It’s _not_ Raphael.”

There was a gentle tap at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Aziraphale? Angel?”

“I… I need a minute, please,” Aziraphale choked out.

“All right. I’ll be here when you’re ready, okay?”

“Oh. Jolly good, yes. Rather,” Aziraphale said, mindlessly.

After some time, though Aziraphale had no idea how long, he emerged from the wet room, standing in the doorway.

“Are you all right, Aziraphale?”

“No,” Aziraphale’s voice barely made a sound.

“What happened?” Crowley asked gently.

“Uh,” Aziraphale rasped, trying not to look directly at it. “You have a cane.”

“Yes,” Crowley said cautiously, unsure of what was going on. “I need it while I’m wearing the boot. Is that all right?”

Aziraphale swallowed dryly. “Raphael can’t walk without a cane.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, not quite understanding, but recognizing that _something_ had happened to Raphael, and it had been bad enough to scar him and make him unable to walk without assistance. Apparently, Raphael wasn’t the only one scarred by whatever had happened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Aziraphale shook his head quickly. “Can’t.”

“Okay.” Crowley considered for a moment. “Do you think you need to lie down?”

Aziraphale let out a soft whine of relief, nodding his head. He sat down next to Crowley on the bed and allowed himself to be guided down. Crowley began stroking his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair in an effort to calm him. Aziraphale jumped when Crowley’s fingers accidentally brushed against the faded scar behind Aziraphale’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, lifting his hands. “I, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath. “I just need… I don’t know what I need, but you’re here, and that’s what matters.”

Crowley had often wondered what caused that scar behind Aziraphale’s ear, though this was the first time Aziraphale had reacted so harshly to him touching it. He hoped some day Aziraphale would let him know what happened. It was evident that today, Aziraphale was _not_ ready for that, and Crowley was not going to push him on it.

Later that night, after Aziraphale had calmed down and come to terms with the cane, after the last check in of the evening, Crowley made an executive decision.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, reaching around from behind to his angel’s stomach. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I was thinking,” Crowley said as his hand slipped further down, “That you might need a little mood boost.”

“Might do,” Aziraphale said, shifting around to face Crowley. “We both might, now that you’re…” His eyes drifted downward, indicating the recent lack of catheter.

“Oh, uh…” Crowley mumbled slightly. “I can’t. “They said it could interfere with my concussion thing to get my heart rate up too much right now,” Crowley said. “Probably another week or two before I can do anything like that.” Crowley slid his hand down Aziraphale’s stomach. “But I could—”

Aziraphale cut him off with a kiss. “No,” he whispered against Crowley’s lips, shaking his head gently. “You don’t have to do that. I’d rather wait for you, so you could enjoy it, too.”

 _Do you have any idea how much I love you?_ Crowley thought. _I look for ways to show you constantly, and yet you’re the one showing me._

_Someday, I hope I deserve you._

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley to pull him against his chest, stroking his hair softly. Content, they held one another as they drifted off to sleep.

Aziraphale went home and Crowley was back in the treatment program the following Monday. Though they missed one another greatly, they continued their progress.

Regardless, Saturday could not arrive soon enough. 

Crowley sat down at the piano to distract himself while waiting for Aziraphale to show up for visitation. He had just decided what to play when a familiar face walked up next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

Hal looked around the room. “Came to see the piano,” he sniffed, trying to hide a grin.

“Right. Of course,” Crowley almost grinned back.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Hal’s mouth quirked to the side as he pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth for a moment, working out what he was going to say. “Do you know when you’re getting out of here?”

“Oh, uh,” Crowley said with a raise of his eyebrows. “Deirdre said since I kept up with my one-on-one with her even when I was downstairs, and because I’ll be continuing with her after, I’ll probably be out next week to continue as an outpatient.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, she thinks I’m ready, whatever that means,” Crowley shrugged, looking down nervously.

“You don’t?”

Crowley shrugged again.

“Do you think you’ll end up…”

Crowley inhaled quickly, opening his mouth to reply. His brows furrowed as he huffed out the breath and closed his mouth. He pondered for a moment before trying to speak again. “You know what? I don’t really know. I haven’t wanted to for a couple-few weeks at least, I don’t think.” He looked down at his thumbnails that had begun to grow back in. They were no longer raw and jagged from being relentlessly bitten and chewed past the quick, though still considerably shorter than the rest of his nails. “But I don’t know how I’m going to feel once I get back out there making my own decisions.”

“Maybe _that’s_ what you’re really scared of.”

Crowley groaned, realizing Hal was probably right. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hal. When did you go and get all introspective and wise?”

“It’s a different world on the outside, Crowley,” Hal said, looking off into the distance poignantly. “I’m older, wiser, and more learned now.”

Crowley’s head tilted with a smirk. “You’ve been out for _five days_.”

“Five days of wisdom you haven’t got,” Hal grinned.

Crowley scoffed. “What do you want?”

“Uh,” Hal began nervously. “June waited to have Lee’s memorial until I was out, so I could be there. I thought maybe you might like to go, too. Maybe see if you wouldn’t mind playing a couple of songs.

“When is it?” Crowley asked.

“We’re working that out, depending on who can do what.”

“Oh?”

Hal nodded. “June said that she’s waited this long, we might as well make sure we do it right.”

Aziraphale was running late. He was terribly concerned that Crowley would be worried or otherwise disappointed in him, but when he walked through the double-doors, he was pleased to see Crowley smiling while talking with Louis and Hal. Not wanting to interrupt, Aziraphale went to say hello to Beelz, who was watching the group from a short distance away.

“He looks happy,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Beelz smiled. “He’s had a good week, yeah, aside from being lonely in here. Hal got discharged the same day Crowley came back. There are only a couple of others who are able to come into the main area right now.” They sighed. “Everyone else is in lockdown.” They looked down. “Like your step-brother should have been.”

“Why wasn’t he?” Aziraphale asked.

“Extraordinary cock-up. Trainee allowed him to roam around before being checked in properly. I took care of it and they've been sacked, but the damage was already done. Now it’s up to Louis to take care of, I hear.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. He’s leading the charge, as it were.”

“If I know him, he’s going to dig up every tiny detail he can to throw at that case. Louis plays to win.”

“You two are so different,” Aziraphale said.

“Not really,” Beelz said, considering. “We both want to help people.”

Aziraphale struggled to maintain a neutral expression. “Oh?”

“Our mum and dad weren’t the nicest people,” Beelz explained. “The Inferno, the Circles, all that? They didn’t exist back then as they do _now_. Terrible place, really. Terrible situation. Wasn’t really a surprise that something happened to them, our parents.” They looked off to the side for a moment before continuing. “I was 14, and Louis was 17 at the time. Can you _imagine_ being a 17-year-old and inheriting an _entire_ underground syndicate? The target that could paint on his back? On _both_ of our backs?”

“I really couldn’t imagine it, no.”

Beelz shrugged. “He protected me. Kept me safe so I could focus on school. When I was old enough, he took care of _everything_ so I had nothing to worry with while attending Uni. He wanted me to _be_ something, have a chance at a better life. And in the process, he’s done the same for a lot of other people. He managed to build up the mess he inherited into a way for lost souls to thrive.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked.

“He gives people a place to stay, food to eat, a job to do, that sort of thing. Nobody who works for him ever wants for anything.”

“But the drugs…” Aziraphale said bitterly.

“It’s not what you think,” Beelz said quietly. “I don’t condone that part of it all, but it used to be a lot worse when we were kids. Louis cut most of that out. Nobody is allowed to buy more than one or two hits of anything at a time. He doesn’t deal in any of the hard stuff, not that any of it is _good_. It’s all just a way to escape a shitty situation.”

“He said it was a fluke that landed Crowley in the hospital.”

Beelz sighed heavily. “It _was_ , but you should be thankful that it did. Have you talked with Crowley about any of this?”

“Broadly. We haven’t discussed the specifics of anything other than he said he needed to be here.”

“When he gets out of here, you need to understand something,” Beelz said seriously. “The half a pill he took that night is _not_ what put him in here. It may have been the catalyst, but he had a problem long before that. He was hiding a lot of it from everyone.” Beelz looked at Aziraphale sadly. “I’m telling you this as a favor, all right? I mean, legally, he signed paperwork saying I could tell _you_ , specifically, about his treatment here. But I’m telling you this part unofficially. Louis found pills and bottles hidden all over Crowley’s room. Stuff even he didn’t recognize. You need to know that, so you can keep an eye out for it if it ever happens again. Do you understand? The Crowley that’s sitting over there right now is so much happier and healthier than the one that came in here at the beginning of last month. I don’t want to see him back in here, and I _definitely_ don’t want to go to his memorial.”

“If that’s the case, I’m not so sure Crowley needs to be around a drug dealer.”

Beelz exhaled sharply through their nose. “Look, I’m not going to take that personally because I _get_ what you’re saying, and I would normally agree with you, but I don’t think you understand. Louis only deals in weed and mood boosters. Crowley was taking heavier things, things that would knock him out. He didn’t get any of that from Louis.”

Aziraphale looked at them skeptically.

“If you completely remove Louis from the story, Crowley still would have had a problem with both pills and alcohol.”

Aziraphale looked away. Thinking back, Crowley had been drunk or drinking more often than not when he added up all the times they had interacted with one another between the time they had split up and the overdose. He sighed, looking up at Beelz with remorseful eyes. “You’re right,” he said quietly.

“I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that what my brother does is good, or even nice,” Beelz said, “But he takes care of his people above all else. Everything he does is for the good of someone else, even when it costs him much more than he’d ever let on. Now that he knows the situation, he’ll do his level best not to let _anything_ happen to Crowley. I’m asking you to do the same.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang the following Friday afternoon. He didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway in case it was a client. Enoch had decided to take on a few more local clients in an attempt to keep busy.

“Hello?”

“Angel!”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“Come pick me up! I’m free!” Crowley laughed. “They’re releasing me back into the wild!”

“I’m on my way,” Aziraphale said, dropping everything to rush out of the office to his car. He didn’t make any stops along the way, driving straight to St. Beryl’s to pick Crowley up.

Once they had gotten into the car, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked pleasantly, “Where do you need to go? Are you hungry? We could—”

“Take me to yours,” Crowley said, near breathlessly. “I’m _hungry_ for _love_.”

Aziraphale snorted a laugh as he rolled his eyes. “I thought you couldn’t for a bit.”

“Doctor cleared me for sex,” Crowley answered. “I _asked_.”

 _Of course you did_ , Aziraphale thought gleefully. He started the engine and put the car in gear.

“I don’t remember there being so many stairs,” Crowley huffed as he neared the top. He squealed when Aziraphale, after digging the keys out of his pocket, scooped Crowley up in a bridal carry from behind.

“Oi! What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you, though I didn’t expect you to squeal about it.”

“I _didn’t_. That would have been undignified.”

“You _did_ ,” Aziraphale said as he unlocked the door to his flat with the key in the hand under Crowley’s knees. He kicked the door open to walk inside.

Crowley kicked his feet gently, biting his lip in a grin. “ _Fuck_ , Angel. Do you have any idea how hot your whole _stronk Aziraphale_ thing is?”

Aziraphale simply grinned, kicking the door shut before walking them down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Aziraphale tossed him gently on the bed.

Crowley laughed as he bounced. “Mind the foot, Angel,” he said, scooting back up against the headboard.

“Speaking of which, your trousers are entirely too tight to pull off over that boot,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll need to remove it.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, it will need to go right back on when you’re done,” Crowley lamented.

“Why did you put on such tight trousers, anyway?” Aziraphale asked as he loosened the straps.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Crowley explained. “I’d like to tell you it’s because I wanted to look nice for you, but honestly, I didn’t even know for sure I’d be going home today.”

Aziraphale’s hands stilled momentarily. _Home_ , he thought. _Are you home, Crowley?_ Aziraphale went back to work carefully removing the boot from Crowley’s foot. “Be a dear, will you?” Aziraphale nodded towards Crowley’s zipper.

Crowley nodded, unfastening his button and zipper, shoving everything down his legs as far as he could reach without moving his foot. Aziraphale pulled his good foot out of the first leg, and then guided the fabric past the injured ankle, being careful not to bump or jostle it before putting the boot back on.

“Now that is a sexy look,” Crowley said, lifting his leg that was now naked except for an orthopedic boot.

“You have no idea,” Aziraphale growled, bringing his own trousers and pants down, kicking them off as he climbed up into the bed and onto Crowley. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever worn.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Oh, my _someone_ , just shut up and fuck me.” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck as he fished around in the side table drawer for the lube tube.

“How do you want to do this?” Aziraphale asked as his slick fingers nudged their way inside, gently working their way in deeper.

Crowley bit his lip, leaning his head back with his eyes closed. “I don’t care as long as my foot stays elevated and you’re touching me.”

“In that case, as you have no preference,” Aziraphale said, slipping another finger inside of him, “I think I’d like to take things gentle and slow.”

“I’m not a fragile doll, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, rocking his hips along with Aziraphale’s movements. “You don’t have to hold back.”

“Don’t think of it like that,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley’s leg up to place the boot on his shoulder. “Think of it as me savoring the time spent pulling _every,”_ he thrust his fingers in harder to punctuate between the words _, “Satisfying_ _noise_ I can from your body.”

Crowley squirmed beneath him with a gasp. “That’s all right, then,” he said, spreading his legs wider.

Aziraphale removed his fingers, and lowered Crowley’s leg before leaning forward. “Put your foot on my back,” he said in a low rumble as he lined up his cock to Crowley’s ready entrance. “Keep it there.”

Crowley nodded and did as he was told.

Aziraphale slowly sank in, leaning in to trace his lips along Crowley’s shoulder and neck. “All right down there?” He asked.

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed, stretching his neck to give Aziraphale full access to every bit of his throat.

Aziraphale, unable to keep himself under control, sank down fully inside of him as he bit down where Crowley’s neck met his shoulder.

Crowley hissed, shaking beneath him. “Do it again.”

Aziraphale complied happily, swiping a gentle tongue across the bite before repeating it on the other side. His hips thrust sharply in response to the noise Crowley made as his teeth pressed firmly against his skin.

Crowley’s hands came up to clutch at Aziraphale’s hair, pulling his head gently up just enough to look into his eyes. “I’ve missed this so much,” he said desperately. “I’ve missed _you_ so much.”

Aziraphale brought their lips together while rocking his hips further into a slowly building frenzy. He reached behind him to hitch Crowley’s leg up a little higher on his back to keep it upright, then slipped his arms beneath Crowley’s back to hold him close. “I love you,” he murmured against Crowley’s lips. “I love you more than I know what to do with.”

“I love you, too, Angel, so much.”

They continued like this for quite some time, rocking into one another, whispering devotions, falling asleep in each other’s arms, then waking up to do it all over again.

It was beginning to grow dark outside when they decided they probably should take a break to eat something and have a conversation about what was happening.

Crowley closed his eyes, trying to figure out what to say. “I didn’t _intend_ to do this,” he said. “I had planned to go back to the hotel first, and work our way back up to this, but there’s something about being alone with you that rids me of my common sense. Almost everything in me wants to sink down into your skin to settle in your bones. But you know I can’t move back in yet, don’t you? I still need to figure out how to function on my own.”

“I, uh…” Aziraphale rubbed circles against his forehead with the palms of his hands. He sighed in frustration. “I don’t think anything I say will be the right thing.” He pulled his hands down from his face to reach for Crowley. “I’m trying to not be selfish, but also, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of how I feel.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands into his own. He looked down at them, rubbing his thumbs across Crowley’s knuckles. “The selfish part of me wants to not let you go,” Aziraphale attempted to explain. “But I know that’s not what _you_ need. I _know_ that. And, if I’m being honest,” he said with a shrug, “It’s probably not particularly healthy for _me_ , either, right now. I also know that me telling you that could put pressure on you that you _also_ don’t need.

“Angel…” Crowley sighed with a lopsided smile.

Aziraphale looked back up into Crowley’s eyes. “But I don’t want you to think, even for a second, that I wouldn’t _want_ you here with me simply because I didn’t _say_ it.” He brought Crowley’s hands up to his lips, kissing one and then the other, before continuing to speak. “So, I think perhaps it might be safe enough for me to say this.” He paused, swallowing loudly as he gathered his words into a tidy little package. “I look forward to the day that we’re _both_ ready to come home to one another, regardless of what shape or form that home takes.”

“Actually, that was, um…” Crowley’s voice faltered slightly. He smiled softly, appreciation and devotion intermixed with relief coursed through his veins. “That was precisely what I _needed_ to hear. Thank you for that.”

“Well, then. Tomorrow begins another adventure.”

“It _does_ ,” Crowley agreed. “But until then,” he looked up at Aziraphale hopefully, “We still have _tonight_.”

Aziraphale returned Crowley’s hopeful glance.

“I’ll go back to the hotel tomorrow,” Crowley explained. “But I’m here _now_.”

Crowley stared at the ceiling as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the crack in the window, catching his eye. _That’s where he told me… Well, it wasn’t **true** , but it hurt just the same_. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes. _Fuck. It shouldn’t feel like this, should it? Like I’m sinking. I’m going to lose myself all over again, and I’ve barely even begun to find me in the first place. It was different in the hospital,_ Crowley thought _. I had a safety net there to catch me if I slipped through the cracks._ The strong arms that were wrapped around him squeezed gently.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the way the sunlight lit up the crack in the window. _I need to get that fixed,_ he thought to himself. _But even if I make it look new on the surface, I’ll always know the crack was there, underneath, I mean. I don’t know how to move past that yet. This is dangerous, what we’re doing, isn’t it? Must be if I can’t just lie here next to him and be happy. I want to. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, to wake up with him in my arms and no restrictions. But it’s not so simple as that, not at all. It was different in the isolated bubble of the hospital. That was always going to be temporary._ The lean torso within his arms twisted around partway, turning his head to face him.

 _He’s awake,_ Aziraphale thought as he met eyes seemingly as surprised as his own that the other was awake. _I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’m ready for this._

_I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to lose **me** , either,_ Crowley thought. _If he **truly** loves me, he’ll understand._

“I think…” Crowley bit his bottom lip. “I think that maybe we need to stop doing this, at least for a little while.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. This was my idea, remember? It’s… This morning, waking up next to you like this. _Fuck_ , Angel, you don’t know what that _does_ to me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes closed while his arms tightened around Crowley. “If it’s anything like what _you_ do to _me_ , perhaps I _do_ understand.” He relaxed, moving the arm wrapped around Crowley’s chest down to rest a hand loosely on his hip.

“I _want_ this,” Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale’s arm back around himself while pressing back against Aziraphale’s chest, “So much. But now I know. I recognize how I’m feeling, and I’m entirely too close to losing myself in it again.”

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s hair, inhaling deeply. “Me, too,” he whispered.

“You know, when I was in the hospital, I knew I was going to the treatment center after. I knew what I needed to do, and didn’t have to worry about where I was going, because I was there and there were plans in place. But I don’t have a clue on how to do this,” Crowley gestured between the two of them, “Yet. Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale begrudgingly nodded, not because he _didn’t_ want to agree, but because he _did_. “It does.”

“Once we leave this bed…” Crowley said, his voice trailing off in a sigh.

“We can’t get back in it together,” Aziraphale finished his thought.

“Not for a bit, anyway,” Crowley agreed, carefully turning over in Aziraphale’s arms the rest of the way to face him. “But we’re not out yet.”

“No, I suppose we aren’t,” Aziraphale murmured, gently tracing the tip of his nose against Crowley’s cheek. His lips just close enough to feel warmth without touch.

Crowley pulled his head back slightly, but brought his hand up to cup Aziraphale’s face. “I’m not exactly eager to leave it yet.”

Aziraphale looked lovingly into Crowley’s eyes as he nuzzled his cheek against Crowley’s hand. “I’ve got nowhere else to be today.”

“It would be a shame to regret not knowing that last night would be the _last_ night for a while,” Crowley said, licking his lips nervously.

“Might have done things differently,” Aziraphale’s eyes slowly moved down to Crowley’s lips, “Had we known.”

Crowley pressed in closer to Aziraphale. “It’s good that we understand one another,” Crowley whispered, his lips brushing delicately against Aziraphale’s own.

“Extremely.”

Crowley’s lips were still just barely touching Aziraphale’s when he felt a tentative tap of the tip of a tongue. He parted his lips, picking up where they left off the night before.

It was mid-afternoon before they emerged from the bedroom.

“I, um, when you went to the treatment center, I brought your bag of things here,” Aziraphale said, pulling the clear hospital bag out of the closet.

The first thing Crowley did was fish the envelope out, looking for the ring. Aziraphale watched, surprised, as Crowley slid it onto his own left ring finger.

Crowley noticed his expression. “I’m not ready to give this back to you,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale looked away, trying to hide the disappointment on his face.

Crowley reached to cup Aziraphale’s chin, gently tilting his face back towards his own. “But I’m also not going to take it off, either. Just give me some time. Can you do that?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Can we get to know another again?” Crowley asked. “We did it before, but we messed things up in the process.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Let’s have lunch," Crowley said, looking inside of his wallet to make sure there was still money inside. "I still owe you one from…”

“The day I left for the Armageddon tour.”

“Oh, yes, the Reign of Terror," Crowley said with a smirk.

Aziraphale scoffed at the gallows humor in that statement, given what had happened to them both. “Foul fiend,” he said, trying to hide his grin.

“So, we’re doing this, then, are we? We’re going to start dating?” Crowley asked.

“I rather think we are,” Aziraphale said, smiling with an unburdened delight as a realization struck. “And this time, we don’t need to hide anymore.”

After lunch, Aziraphale dropped Crowley off at the Inferno.

“You’re back!” Louis exclaimed. “Are you here to stay? I’ve kept your room for you, though it did need some cleaning. I mentioned your plants, I’m sure. “

“You did, thank you. And yes, if you’ll have me, I’ll be staying for the foreseeable future,” Crowley said.

“Everything all right with your angel?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we’re good. But I need to figure out how to handle things on my own outside of the hospital before we try living together again, I think. He agrees.”

“I’m certainly glad to have you back. You let me know when you’re ready to go back on the schedule in the lounge and I’ll get you started. No rush,” Louis said, eyeing the cane in Crowley’s hand and the boot on his foot. “Just whenever you’re ready. In the meantime, why don’t you go to your room and I’ll send along someone to give you a manicure and a massage. My treat.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Crowley said before reconsidering. “Actually, a manicure sounds good. But instead of a massage, could you send someone that cuts hair?” Crowley asked, thinking about how much he’d like to get rid of the hair on the back and sides of his head where Gabe had grabbed him. “I’d like to clean this up a bit.”

“Of course. You go relax. I’ll handle everything.”

After his manicure and undercut, Crowley felt a chill. He went through his things looking for his favorite jumper to wear. He liked the way it fell off of his shoulder. He opened his jewelry box and was pleased to find everything still there. He put some earrings in, one of his two favorite silver chains, and put on the leather bracelets Aziraphale had given him on their first Christmas together.

He walked over to the service station across the way to pick up a pack of cigarettes, then went back to sit on the stairs outside to smoke.

“You’re back!” Dana exclaimed happily as she rushed over, as well as someone who had recently come out of two plaster casts could, to sit on the stairs next to him. Her expression shifted when she saw the cigarette in his hand, remembering New Year. “Has something gone wrong, Crowley?”

“Wrong? No… Nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong?” Crowley asked, confused.

“Well, if you’re out of the hospital, I thought you’d have been back home with your angel,” she explained. “But last time I found you out here with a cigarette was when—”

Crowley lifted his hands up to stop her. “Oh, no, no no no, that’s not… It’s really okay, Dana. Nothing like that happened. We’re still good,” he said.

Dana looked at him quizzically. “Why are you back here, then?”

“I, uh, I need to make sure I can be me _on my own_ before I can be _me and him_. Gotta… Gotta make sure I’m _ready_ for that first.” He took a long drag from his cigarette. “But we, um, we’re still good. Dating, properly this time, none of that sneaking around like we did before. Getting to know one another all over again.” Crowley smiled fondly. “Looking forward to that part, matter of fact.”

“I thought you quit smoking.”

“Yeah. I quit it a few times, actually,” Crowley said. “It’s becoming almost as much of a habit as the cigarettes themselves.”

Dana leaned in to nudge him gently. “Why are you smoking again, Crowley?”

He looked down, considering something he hadn’t fully admitted to himself before looking up at her. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” She asked him softly as she brushed the hair back on his forehead.

“What if I can’t do it?”

“I don’t know. What if you can?”

He pulled his head back. “What kind of a question is that?”

“It’s… It’s a question, Crowley. What if you _can_ do it? Have you thought about that, or have you already decided to fail?”

“Look at you being all astute. Between you and Hal, I don’t know who any of you people are anymore,” Crowley laughed.

Dana stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ll have you know I’m brilliant,” she said.

“You are,” Crowley agreed. “Mostly.”

Dana rolled her eyes and took a cigarette out of his pack.

“Your nails are pretty,” Dana said, noticing his hands as he lit her cigarette. “You don’t usually wear them long like this.”

“Yeah,” He said, flexing to spread his fingers out for a better look. “Hard to keep them long when I’m playing guitar regularly,” he said. “Took advantage of the downtime to grow them out a bit. Well, most of them, anyway,” he said, looking down at the short thumbnails on both hands. “They’ll be gone soon. I’ll be trimming them when I start playing again. It’s just easier for me.”

“When do you think that might be?”

“Hadn’t really thought too much about it yet, actually,” Crowley said. “Louis told me to take some time off before I came back, and I think I’ll be doing that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few things to do this week, so if you don't see a bonus chapter, please don't be alarmed. I'll _probably_ still get one knocked out, but if not, I'll be back on Saturday for certain.
> 
> Take care of yourselves! Drop me a comment to let me know how you're doing!


	38. Go On, For I Am Strong And Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and the feelings they carry on the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Deadnaming
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> [Sierra Eagleson - Simple Man (Lynyrd Skynyrd Cover) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFOk2AMpuwA)
> 
> Title is from Dante's Divine Comedy

Crowley went inside his room, closing the door quietly behind himself. He made his way over to the bed, turning on both the bedside lamp and a small tin star, punched with pinholes to let the light filter through to scatter along the walls, rather than the overhead lights. 

He sighed, biting his lip in thought. Crowley let out a gasp as something occurred to him. People had been in his room while he was gone, and moved things around. There was something he had hidden away, something precious, that he had to make certain was still there.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Crowley knelt to look underneath the bed. He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled a box out from beneath. He opened it reverently, taking out an item wrapped in soft cloth with exquisite care. Pulling back the flaps, he looked down at the bundle of photos inside.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, tracing a fingertip along Ashtoreth’s face in the photograph.

**_West Lothian, Scotland  
April, 1971_ **

Bal awoke to hushed, but angry, voices coming from the kitchen. He pretended to remain asleep, trying not to disturb anyone as he kept an eye on the tiny cot draped with a blue blanket, covered in stars, on top.

“It’s evil, Nat.”

Bal’s breath caught in his throat as he strained to listen.

“He’s nae evil, Mal. He’s yer son.”

“It’s a demon, Anathalie. Ye cannae see it, but it’s true.”

“He’s naw more demon than Bal. He’s yer son, and I’m done arguing wi ye about it.”

“I dinnae ken. Look at its eyes, Nat,” Malcom sneered. “More like Ballentine sired it than me.”

Bal, still pretending to be asleep, felt sick to his stomach.

“Uch, get tae fuck,” Anathalie said, equally disturbed by the statement. “That’s disgusting, Mal. Yer talking about my _brother_ , for fuck’s sake. My great granda had eyes li’ tha’, too. It’s a family trait.”

“Doesnae matter. I want it _gone_ ,” Mal said, quietly slipping into the living room to reach into the cot.

Anathalie gasped. “What are ye dain, Mal?”

“Needs must. Ye coming o’ nae?”

Bal, careful to make no sounds or movements, watched as his twin sister hesitated before nodding. Something was terribly off about whatever had just happened. Bal waited until he heard the door locking behind them to get up. He quickly threw on his shoes and crept out the door to follow them.

Bal knew nothing good could come from taking a child from his bed after midnight, especially one so young. The boy hadn’t even been _named_ yet. Anathalie had insisted she wouldn’t name him without Malcom’s approval, but Malcom was having none of it. Bal was worried for his nephew. He had his own experiences of the kind of repercussions that came with being different, especially around his sister’s partner.

One of the problems of having eyes with elongated pupils, the medical reason Bal wore tinted lenses, was a boon in this instance. With more light entering his eye, he could see things in the dark that others couldn’t. Keeping to the shadows, Ballentine managed to catch up to them as they crept along, hidden to all _but_ him in the shadows themselves.

Staying hidden, Bal followed as they ducked down the close. He watched in disbelief as Mal took the bundle from Anathalie’s arms and placed it into a cardboard box next to the bins. They had already turned around to walk away when Bal called out after them through the darkness. “Oi! Fuck ye dain?”

Anathalie’s scream of surprise at being rumbled was muffled as Malcom put his hand over her mouth. “Haud yer wheesht!” He hissed as he shushed Anathalie. His voice raised in volume only slightly as he called out from the shadows. “What dae ye want, Bal? Come out where we can see ye!”

Ballentine stepped out of the shadow into the moonlight, scooping up the baby out of the cardboard box, carefully tucking the starry blanket he brought as a gift around to keep the boy warm. “The fuck ye dain?” He repeated. “Ye cannae just _leave_ the wee lad here.”

“It’s nae yer concern, Ballentine,” Anathalie said.

“Anathalie, naw,” Bal said, realizing with growing dread that she was going along with this willingly.

“I want him out of my house, Nat,” Malcom sneered. “Send him hame to Edinburgh. Send him aff tae Hell with the rest of the demons, for all Ah give a shite. Let’s go hame.” Mal turned back around to leave, placing his hand on Anathalie’s elbow to guide her.

“Ye fucking bawbag, ye…” Bal scoffed, at a loss for words. “Yer aff yer heid if ye think Ah’m about tae let ye leave him tae the rats o’ the close.”

“Get tae fuck, Bal,” Malcom sneered.

“Are ye prepared to kill me, too? Because tha’s the only way ye’ll be leaving him here,” Ballentine said, defiantly.

Anathalie tensed as she felt Malcom reaching into his pocket. “Wait!” She stepped in between her brother and her partner. “What dae ye—”

“Give him to me,” Bal said, eyes pleading. “Give him to me, an’ Ah’ll figure something out. Ah’ll take ‘im far away. We can fill out some paperwork. All ye need is tae sign him over. Ah’ll pack our things and ye’ll nae see us again.”

Malcom said nothing, but it was evident he was considering this.

“Just, gie me a wee bit more time to come up with—”

“Ye’ll _leave_ , and ye’ll take that thing wi’ ye?” Malcom asked quietly.

Ballentine nodded. “Ah’ve already got some money put away. I just need enough time to get us somewhere,” Ballentine was looking around frantically, trying to work things out in his head while on his feet.

“Mal,” Anathalie whispered, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s _everything_ ye wanted, Mal,” Ballentine continued, desperate. “Ye’ll get rid o’ us both, nice and legal. No blood on yer hands.”

“Only thing standin’ in the way of you leavin’ is money, is it?” Mal asked quietly.

“I could leave on my own wi’ wha’, uh, wha’ Ah’ve got now. Was only here tae see Nat an’ the lad regardless.” Ballentine looked down at the tiny baby in his arms. “But life on th’ run, tha’s barely better than leaving him in the close.”

Malcom narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have your paperwork,” he said. “And I’ll gie ye £5,000 to quit.”

Ballentine’s eyes were wide with shock. With what he had already saved up to start a new life, Malcom’s offer would be enough to put a nice payment on a house, furnish it, and have a bit of a cushion while looking for work.

“After that,” Mal continued, “I dinnae _ever_ want tae see either of ye demons again.”

“Come wi’ us, Nat,” Bal whispered, packing bags of baby clothes and supplies into the car.

“Ye dinnae ken where yer tae go, Bal!” Anathalie scoffed.

“Aye, Ah do. When th’ two o’ ye were off sorting paperwork, I made a few calls. Got work lined up already, even. There’s a…” Bal hesitated. Bal had bounced the notion around internally now and then for years, but it wasn’t until very recently that Bal had actually entertained the thought as a possible reality. Would Anathalie understand? Bal thought perhaps she already knew, but had simply been ignoring it for the last few years. They hadn’t had much contact at all since Anathalie moved away with Mal, other than a few holidays when they came back to Edinburgh. It had been quite a shock earlier that week to learn over the phone that not only had Anathalie become pregnant, but she had already given birth at home that morning. Bal packed a bag, stopped to buy a blanket as a gift, and showed up to their house within a few hours of the end of the call.

“There’s an organization, for people li’ myself. They’re looking for volunteers tae help get others sorted,” Bal explained.

“I cannae go now, Bal. Mal’s already properly mad. Too chancy.”

“Aye, yer probably right. But ye’ll follow us, won’t ye? Gie me a few months tae get us settled, and Ah’ll send word back home where tae go. Ye’ll join us?”

Anathalie clenched her jaw, looking away. “Aye, deed. By the end of summer.”

Bal smiled, closing the boot after the last bag was packed. The two siblings continued to talk about their hopes and dreams of the future into the night, before sleep overtook them both.

The plan was for Bal and the baby to leave just before dawn. They were off to begin a new life, the two of them. Hopefully by summer’s end, the _three_ of them. All Bal knew for certain was that once Scotland was behind them, things were going to change.

**_Leeds, England  
August, 1971_ **

Ashtoreth stretched as the first morning light filtered in through her bedroom window. She stood up, sliding her feet into her slippers one at a time, and shuffled off down the hall to the next room. She smiled as she approached the cot. The child’s eyes had begun to shift from the blue of infancy towards something more golden amber. Ashtoreth grinned, picking him up. His eyes, wide-open and slit down the center just like her own green eyes, stared back up at her in wonder.

“You look so much like her,” Ashtoreth murmured as she leaned down to kiss the baby on the forehead. “Her name’s Anathalie. That’s why I call you Anthony. But ye can change it to anything ye like when yer auld enough.” Ashtoreth rocked Anthony gently in her arms. “It’s been a few months, but she’s coming back to us. She’ll be along any day nao.”

**_Leeds, England  
April, 1975_ **

“Where the _fuck_ have _you_ been?” Ashtoreth hissed, trying to keep her voice low and measured in spite of her fury. “You were meant to be here _years_ ago! Said ye were going to take care o’ things so ye could leave and then be here before summer was out. The lad’s almost _four_ now, Anathalie!”

“Why dae ye sound like a Sassenach, Bal?”

“If ye won’t call me Ashtoreth, at least _pretend_ to respect my dignity and call me Ash,” Ashtoreth corrected her sister. ”And I _live_ here now, don’t I?”

The two stared at one another in a silent, uncomfortable standoff in the doorway.

“Is that all you’ve got to say to me after all this time, Nat? You’ve traveled for miles to insult me in my own home?”

“No,” Anathalie said, looking away. “Ma Ah come in?”

“I’ve been waiting _years_ for ye to come in,” Ashtoreth said, stepping aside and waving her arm in invitation. She guided Anathalie to follow her into the kitchen, offering a chair.

“You look so different now,” Anathalie said.

“I _am_ different,” Ashtoreth said. “I’m _happy_.”

“It doesnae feel like it’s _you_ , though,” Anathalie said, looking around uncomfortably.

“What you’re feeling right now? That’s how I used to feel constantly, but it was bigger and more suffocating for me, because that _wasn’t_ me, back then. _This_ is who I am.”

“Ye cannae expect me tae simply ignore how different this is, Ba-Ash.” Anathalie said. “Ah need time.”

“Ye’ve _known_ this since before I left. We talked about it.” Ashtoreth wasn’t sure if she were more surprised or disappointed. “I sent ye that letter explaining everything _years_ ago. Obviously, you got it, or you wouldn’t have known where to find us.” Ashtoreth sighed heavily. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve missed you too much. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

Anathalie’s face showed a slight expression of discomfort, but she nodded with a strained smile.

Ashtoreth conceded that this might have been the best she could achieve at the moment, and called it a win. “Are ye here tae stay, finally?”

Anathalie shook her head.

“Why not?” Ashtoreth asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Ah got married.”

Ashtoreth’s eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open. “You _what_?”

“Malcom and Ah got married,” Anathalie repeated, quieter.

“When?” Ashtoreth grasped tightly at the edge of the worktop. “When did this happen?”

Anathalie hesitated. “It’ll be two years come Friday.”

Ashtoreth stumbled to sit down. “You fucking _weapon_. Ye must be joking,” she said, rage simmering underneath.

Anathalie looked genuinely confused. “Nae, why would ye say tha'?”

Ashtoreth looked at her incredulously. “Tha’s his _birthday_ , Nat. How dae ye nae ken that?”

“That’s why Ah picked it! Ah wanted tae commemorate it.”

Ashtoreth pulled her head back in surprise. “Did ye, aye? By marrying the man who convinced ye tae leave him in a fucking close to die?”

“Dinnae be so dramatic, Bal—”

“It’s _Ashtoreth_ , and Ah’m nae being _dramatic_. Ah was _there_. Ah saw what ye did. Wasn’t even a few days auld, and ye left him there in the middle of the night.”

“Someone would’ve found him.”

“Someone _did_ ,” Ashtoreth growled, standing up to her full height, toe to toe and eye to eye with her twin sister. “ _Me_. _Ah_ found him only because Ah followed you. Just how long did ye expect a wee bairn tae survive by himself outside like tha’ on a Friday night? Naebodie would’ve been ‘round for _two days_.”

Anathalie took a step back, looking away.

Ashtoreth closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “Right, so ye’ve been married for two years, and ye didnae think tae tell me. Or maybe ye did think about it, but we’ve heard nary a peep from ye in years either way. How did that happen?”

“He asked me,” Anathalie said, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles on her blouse.

Ashtoreth threw her hands in the air with a scoff of disgust. “Ach, aye, that’s all, was it? Why didnae ye say so? Tha’s all right, then!”

Anathalie glared at her.

Ashtoreth, never one to back down from a challenge, glared right back. “Are ye staying with him?”

Anathalie nodded.

Ashtoreth’s eyes narrowed even further. “The fuck ye dain here, then? What do ye want from us?”

“Ah just wanted to see him once. That’s all. Then Ah can go back to my own life.”

“Aye, right?” Ashtoreth was livid. “Git tae fuck. He deserves more than tha’.”

“He’s my son.”

“Ye gave him away, twice. Once tae die, then once tae me. Ye want tae see him? Here,” Ashtoreth said, opening the kitchen drawer. “Ye can have these photies,” she said, pulling out a stack of photographs she had yet to put into an album.

“Naw, Ah didnae tell Mal I was coming here. Canna explain a photie away. Ye mind his moods.”

“Aye, Ah do. And yer staying wi’ the ragin’ bastard.” Ashtoreth shook her head in sad disbelief.

“Mal’s my husband. Ah love him.”

Ashtoreth closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pressing her lips into a hard line that dimpled her cheek before opening her eyes to look at Anathalie to speak. “You’re either going to be a regular part of Anthony’s life,” Ashtoreth spoke coolly and evenly, “Or you’re going to have to leave _right now_.”

Ashtoreth locked the kitchen door behind Anathalie when she heard a tiny voice behind her.

“I heard a noise.”

Ashtoreth plastered a smile on her face before turning around. “Ach, pigeon, back tae bed with ye.” Ashtoreth shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. She began again, altering her speech back to what Anthony was accustomed to hearing from her. “Go back to bed, pigeon.” She opened the jar of peanut butter on the worktop and grabbed a spoon from the drainboard to scoop a bit out. “I’ll be along shortly,” she said, handing him the spoon and gently guiding him towards the hallway before returning to the window to watch as Anathalie left down the path.

She walked down the hallway, pausing in the doorway to watch as Anthony moved his stuffed toys around, placing them just so, before sitting on the edge of the bed. He kicked his feet and bobbed his head, smiling around the spoon in his mouth as he waited for Ashtoreth to come in.

“Would you like me to light your stars?” She asked, reaching towards the tin star with holes punched through the metal next to his bed.

Anthony nodded. “Will you sing me a lullaby, mummy?” He asked, handing her his empty spoon.

Ashtoreth turned the nightlight on, casting pin-prick dotted stars across the room. “Of course, dear,” she said, sitting down next to the bed.

_"Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself  
Follow your heart and nothing else  
And you can do this, if you try  
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied"_

Ashtoreth reached over as Anthony snuggled underneath the covers, tucking him in.

_"And be a simple kind of man  
Be something you love and understand  
Baby, be a simple kind of man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"_

Anthony fell asleep once more almost immediately. Ashtoreth leaned over to place a kiss to the top of his head before quietly slipping out of the room.

_  
  
_

**_Leeds, England  
April, 1979_ **

“Get tae! You’ll nae take my son!” Ashtoreth yelled, slamming the door in Anathalie’s face. Trembling, she locked the door and drew the curtains closed, grabbing a book and a bottle off of the shelf on her way back into the kitchen.

Still shaking, Ashtoreth took a glass from the drainboard and sat down at the table, pouring herself a healthy measure of the dark amber liquid. Downing it in one go, she poured another, attempting to calm down.

Ashtoreth looked down at the book on the table. “Where should we go?” She asked aloud quietly, sipping from her glass as her fingers traced along the road atlas open on the kitchen table in front of her. “Scotland’s out,” she said, pushing her finger against the map on the page with a scowl. “The northern part of England’s out,” she said, considering how much distance she might reasonably be able to get between them. “It’s not as if these problems didn’t exist yesterday,” she sighed heavily as she looked around the page. “But they _definitely_ exist today. Everything is such a mess.”

When Anathalie showed up at her door earlier that evening, it didn’t even occur to her that she or Malcom would have suggested they take Anthony back to Scotland. The past notwithstanding, Anthony was _happy_ in England. It was his home, as far as he was concerned.

Ashtoreth knew many things. She knew that she had a piece of paper stating Anthony was her son, that Mal wasn’t ever listed on the birth certificate to begin with, and that was in her favor. She knew Malcom didn’t _really_ want Anthony. He just wanted a son to carry on the family line. When Anathalie let it slip that they couldn’t have any more children, her suspicions were confirmed. She knew Malcom would crush the spirit she could see within her little boy. Malcom would put that child through Hell trying to manipulate him into a box that Anthony would never fit into.

Ashtoreth _also_ knew Anthony was special, and it made her so proud of how open he was regarding the exploration of who he could be. She wasn’t sure just _how much_ he was growing up to be like her, but she knew enough to know that he’d never be happy living under the expectation that he conform to Malcom’s ideal of what a man should be. Regardless of who Anthony was growing up to become, Ashtoreth vowed to do whatever was in her power to allow her son to feel secure in his identity. She would make certain he would flourish and thrive.

If that meant it was time to run away again, so be it. She could continue the work the Beaumont society was doing to increase visibility and rights anywhere, she thought. And if for some reason she couldn’t, she’d start her own. Ashtoreth felt it was her duty as a parent to ensure the world her child grew up in gave him more opportunities to be whoever he needed to be than she had growing up. She was fully prepared to move Heaven and Earth if needs must, but she had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that.

She tipped the bottle of Talisker back over her glass. “I only ever wanted to exist. That’s all it took to be a demon in the old days,” Ashtoreth said with a weary sigh. The small whimper from the doorway startled her. “Pigeon! What are you doing up? How long have you been standing there?”

“I heard all of you yelling, but I was too scared to come out.” Anthony’s face was wet. “They said I was evil.”

Ashtoreth frowned, rushing over to pull him close into a tight hug. “You don’t listen to them. You listen to _me_ ,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “You are everything that’s good in this world. They don’t know you, and that is _very_ sad for them. But you don’t have to be afraid of them. Be sorry for them instead. Do you know why we should feel sorry for them, pigeon?”

Anthony was confused. “Why?”

“We should feel sorry for them that they have such narrow minds. We should pity them that they don’t know how _wonderful_ you are. And we should accept that they’ll have to live with that.”

“But he was mean to you,” Anthony sniffled. “They both were.”

“Oh, pigeon, I wish you hadn’t heard that,” Ashtoreth sniffled, holding Anthony close. “But would you like to know a little secret?” She pulled back to look into Anthony’s eyes, brushing the hair off of his forehead. “One just between you an’ me?”

Anthony nodded, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m going to forgive them for that. Not because _they_ deserve it, but because _we_ do. Anger does so many things to us, pigeon. Sometimes anger is good, because it pushes us to make a change, and to make things _better_.”

“Like your meetings with the other angry ladies?” Anthony asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Ashtoreth beamed at him with a gentle laugh. “Yes, dear, _exactly_ like that. But there is something else you need to understand about that. Being angry about what I _can’t_ change is a burden, and I don’t want to carry that.”

“What’s the difference, mummy?”

Ashtoreth sighed, rocking him in her arms. “Ach, my precious wee ’un,” she said, looking up and to the side as if to search for answers. “I’m afraid there’s naw hard n’ fast rule on tha’.” She closed her eyes, feeling herself slipping back into old habits. She scrunched up her face in an attempt to compose herself again. “Every situation is different. If someone hurts you over and over again, even if they _think_ they mean well, sometimes you can’t do anything about that. The forgiveness you show someone…” Her voice trailed off momentarily as she collected her thoughts. “It’s important you understand, pigeon, that just because you forgive someone, that doesn’t mean they have to _stay_ in your life. _Sometimes_ , after you’ve done everything else you can, you have to forgive them so you can leave the past behind ye to move on and be happy.”

Anthony pouted. “Are you happy with me?”

“Ach, pigeon,” Ashtoreth said, voice cracking slightly as the precarious grasp over her own emotions slipped further at such a question. She tried her best to fight back the tears trying to force their way through. “My wee lad. Anywhere ye are is where ma heart is. Yer my _world_. Dae ye ken tha’?” She wiped her eyes, sniffling quietly. “If Ah haven’y made tha’ clear enough, Ah’ve done ye a disservice, an’ for tha’, ‘msorry.” She squeezed him gently enough not to hurt him, but tight enough to keep her broken heart from breaking further. “Ah love ye so, pigeon.”

“Love you, too, mummy,” Anthony said, squeezing back. He _didn’t_ understand, not yet, but that was all right. He felt the love regardless.

**_Eastbourne, England UK  
December, 1982_ **

“Mum, who are these people?” Anthony asked, bringing Ashtoreth a photo.

Ashtoreth’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

“There’s a whole box of photos in the loft. I found them while looking for Holiday decorations. Are you all right?”

“Oh,” Ashtoreth said, relaxing. “I’m quite all right, pigeon. I thought maybe someone had given it to you.”

“Who—”

Ashtoreth grimaced, realizing her mistake too late. “Oh, okay, uh, we, uh, we need to have a talk.”

“Yeah?”

Ashtoreth nodded. “Let’s have a seat. How old are you now, five?”

Anthony’s brows furrowed in a pout. “I’m eleven.”

Ashtoreth smirked. “Right. First off, you already know a lot of this. You just don’t _know_ you know it, or what it _is_.”

Anthony looked at her with narrow eyes and a slack jaw. “What?”

Ashtoreth laughed. “Right, okay, that, uh, that made no sense. Okay,” she took a deep breath, picking up the photo. “I think I remember when this was taken, actually. We were waiting for Easter dinner to be ready, a few years before you were born. Do you recognize anyone in this picture?”

Anthony studied it for a moment. “No idea who this one is,” Anthony pointed to a man with dark hair. “These two both look like you, though. But he has eyes exactly like yours, and her eyes are normal, but the same color as mine. Are they family?”

“Everyone in that picture is related to you, Anthony,” Ashtoreth said quietly. She pointed to the photo on the table. “That’s Malcom, and that’s Anathalie. You were named after her.”

“Who is this?” He asked, pointing to the third person in the photograph.

Ashtoreth bit her lip, closing her eyes before she spoke. “That… That’s Ballentine.”

“You said you remember this. Were you there?”

“Yes,” Ashtoreth whispered.

“Did you take the picture?” Anthony asked.

“I, um… I’m _in_ the picture,” Ashtoreth said, looking down at the image of Ballentine. “Or, at least, who I used to be.”

Anthony looked at the picture and back at Ashtoreth a few times, considering the information he had been given. “Okay.”

Ashtoreth looked up quickly in surprise. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Anthony shrugged. “Okay.”

“Hmm,” Ashtoreth hummed, both surprised and impressed. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah,” Anthony said, pointing to the photo again. “Who are they?”

“Actually, I meant about me, but—”

“Oh, okay,” Anthony interrupted quickly. “Uh, are you happy like this?”

Ashtoreth looked at him with a warm smile. “Yes, I am.”

“Then I’m happy, too,” he replied, smiling back at her.

“Okay, so, to answer your question, those two,” she pointed at the photo, “Are your real mum and dad.”

Anthony glared at the photo. “Those are the ones that were here that night, aren’t they?”

Ashtoreth’s face fell. She had hoped he might not have remembered that. “I’m afraid so,” she said.

“Ah, I see. Then they aren’t my mum and dad,” he said, turning to look her in the eye. “Because _you_ are.”

Ashtoreth inhaled sharply, her eyebrows lifting in awe of the incredible gift she had just been given.

“So, my name, it’s for her?”

Ashtoreth nodded, still unsure what words to use.

“Is her last name Crowley, too?”

Ashtoreth shook her head. “No, her maiden name was McAvoy. Changed to Gordon when she married Mal. Uh, as far as Crowley, I made that up for us.”

“You picked that out for the two of us, and it had nothing to do with either of them?”

“Yeah,” she said, brushing the hair off of his face.

“Well, then, I think I’d like it if people started calling me Crowley instead of Anthony, mum. I’d rather have your name than hers.”

Ashtoreth had never before been happier in her entire life.

**_Eastbourne, England UK  
October 11th, 1999_ **

“You’re Anthony.”

Crowley turned, his eyes coming to a stop upon meeting a face shaped like a ghost with a gaze colored, albeit with rounded pupils, as warm and golden as his own.

“Ah’m—”

Crowley threw his hand up quickly. “I don’t know you.”

“Ah know. Ah’m—”

“No, you don’t understand. I know _who_ you are. I _recognize_ you. I don’t _know_ you. And, for the record, I’d prefer we keep it that way.”

“Oh,” the woman said, disappointed.

“If you’ve come to pay your respects, you’ve done so. Thank you for coming. Feel free to be on your way,” he said as he turned back around. “Don’t bother signing the guestbook.”

The hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. “Anthony—”

“It’s _Crowley_ ,” he said, flinching as he turned back around.

‘Crowley,” she began again, “I thought you might like some pictures of Bal—”

“I already _have_ pictures of my mother.”

She tried to put the envelope in his hands. “These are photies o’ Ballentine when he—”

“I _said_ ,” Crowley repeated, shoving the envelope away, “I _have_ pictures of my _mother_ , _Ashtoreth_. What you’re offering me are _not_ pictures of _her_.”

“But _I’m_ yer—”

“ ** _Don’t_** ,” Crowley growled. “Don’t you _dare_ say it, especially not _today_ , not at my mother’s memorial.” He glared at her with fierce eyes that belied the pain behind them. “How did you find us?”

“We saw the obituary in the papers,” she said.

“Ah,” Crowley said. “Does your husband know you’ve come?”

“He sent me,” Anathalie said.

“Oh, really?” Crowley asked, wide-eyed. “Is that so? Now why would he do a thing like that?”

“If ye’ll come hame, we can—”

“I _am_ home,” Crowley said.

“Mal has already seen the will, Anthony.”

“It’s _Crowley_ , and what are you on about? What about the will?”

“When we signed you over to Bal—”

“ ** _ASHTORETH_**!” Crowley shouted, causing a few heads to turn. “My mother’s name was **_Ashtoreth_**!”

“Aye, it _was_ ,” Anathalie said carefully. “But your adoption papers say Ballentine McAvoy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Mal has already begun to contest the will, since it was his money that paid for the house. Mal needs a son to pass his name on to keep the family line going. He said ye can stay in the house if ye’ll agree to change yer name. Ye’ll get the deed once ye gie him at least one Gordon son.”

Crowley had to sit down. That was too much. _Everything_ was too much. “But it’s not _his_ name on any of the paperwork,” Crowley said after a few minutes of thought. “I’ve _seen_ it. How is it _he_ could contest _any_ of it when his name isn’t anywhere on the paperwork? It’s _yours_.”

“He’s ma husband. Wha’s mine is his,” she stated.

Crowley huffed out an angry laugh. “You just… You keep fucking me over. I’ve never done anything to you, and you keep… Why do you keep doing this to me?” He whispered, pulling at his own hair.

“She named me after you, did you realize that?” Crowley asked her. “Had it not been the name she herself chose for me, I’d have changed it already. Instead, I go by the name she and I _shared_ , one that has nothing to do with _you_ or your _husband_.”

“It’s a simple process, really. We can take care of it in an efternuin. Just a wee bit o’ paperwork,” Anathalie said, ignoring his protests with a smile.

“A wee bit of paperwork?” Crowley repeated mockingly. “You… You can’t be serious.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this at all, but especially not _today_. You couldn’t even wait a whole fucking _hour_ to let me grieve. No, you pulled this shite _at her memorial._ This was never about me, was it? None of the times you came. You never cared about me _or_ her. You just wanted something from us.”

Anathalie reached her arms out towards him. “That’s nae true. Gie us a hug. We can work this all out, ye’ll see.”

“No, we _can’t_ ,” Crowley snarled, recoiling from her outstretched arms. “You can _keep_ the fucking house. I’ll be out by the end of the week. I’m keeping _her name_.” Crowley snatched the envelope from Anathalie’s hands and stormed off, headed to what was once his home to pack up what was left of two lives and fit them, somehow, into his car.

**_Seven Sisters Cliffs, Seaford, England UK  
October 15th, 1999_ **

Crowley got out of his car to open the back. He rummaged around in the back, pulling out a guitar case, a large stock pot with a lid, the envelope Anathalie had brought to him, a box of old photos of Ballentine, and the remnants of Ashtoreth’s special bottle of Talisker. He took the envelope, along with the box of photographs that he had never before looked upon, other than the writing on the box, and put them inside of the pot, careful not to look at any of them still. He poured a good measure of Talisker into the bottom of the pot, taking a hearty swig directly from the bottle himself before throwing the match into the pot. He held the lid to the pot in his hand as he watched the flames lick up along the steep sides. After several minutes, he took a long stick and stirred the bottom, helping ensure there was enough air to feed the flames, letting everything inside turn to ash.

Once it had cooled, he poured his mother’s ashes into the pot along with the new ash, blending it together.

“I hope you make it to Heaven, and until you get there, you have fun along the way,” he said, taking the first handful of ashes to scatter over the cliff. He watched as they caught the breeze, swirling, whirling, and dancing on the wind as they lifted high up into the sky. He continued to do this, one handful at a time, blowing kisses and taking his time as he watched his mother's earthly remains float away.

Crowley rinsed his hands off with a bottle of water, letting the remnants of her ashes soak into the earth, and sat down near the edge of the cliff. He opened his mother’s guitar case, reverently removing her guitar, painted to look like Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night, and began to play.

_Mama told me when I was young  
"Come sit beside me, my only son  
And listen closely to what I say  
And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"  
  
"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast  
Troubles will come and they will pass  
You'll find a person and you'll find love  
And don't forget, son, there is someone up above"  
  
"And be a simple kind of man  
Be something you love and understand  
Baby, be a simple kind of man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"  
  
"Forget your lust for the rich man's gold  
All that you need is in your soul  
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try  
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied"  
  
"And be a simple kind of man  
Oh, be something you love and understand  
Baby, be a simple kind of man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"_

_  
  
_“Oh, yes, I will,” Crowley said out loud, closing his eyes. He sat, cross legged on the edge of his bed, not unlike he had sat on the edge of the cliff over twenty years prior. Opening his eyes, he laughed softly upon seeing _her_ guitar, the one she taught him to play on, in his lap. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten it out to play. “Trying to tell me something, Mum?” Crowley asked, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. He sniffled for a moment, then picked up playing where he had left off.

  
_  
"Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself  
Follow your heart and nothing else  
And you can do this, if you try  
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied"  
_

_  
_ Crowley paused, looking up with wet eyes. He placed the guitar on the pillow, lying down next to it. His chin trembled slightly. “I’m trying, mum. I’m scared, but I can do this.”

He sighed, rolling over to look up at the ceiling. He wiped his eyes again, picking up a photo from the bundle next to him on the bed. Smiling at the image smiling back at him, he quietly sang the last verse of the song she had sung to him so many times as a child.

__

_  
  
"Baby, be a simple, be a simple man  
Oh, be something you love and understand  
Baby, be a simple, be a simple man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can?"_

Crowley smiled, reaching up to touch the tattoo on his jaw matching the one his mother had for as long as he could remember. He had gotten it shortly after her death, taking her photo to the tattoo parlour and pointing to it even when he felt he couldn’t speak. 

For so long, only _one_ person in the entire world had wanted _him_ , and not just the _idea_ of who or what he might _represent_ to them. For years after her death, Crowley had hardened himself into the acceptance that there was no one left on Earth that would ever make him feel wanted again. Ashtoreth had been an angel then, and she was an angel now, he had decided. She _had_ to be. He wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

But now, he had another angel in his life that wanted him. This new angel had saved him, too. Crowley had no doubt in his mind, now, that Aziraphale loved him as purely as Ashtoreth had, even if the _type_ of love was different. Different needn’t mean less.

He pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the photo in his hand before carefully and lovingly wrapping it back up with the rest of the bundled photos of Ashtoreth. Putting it back beneath the bed, he curled up next to the guitar once more, staring at the photo on his phone. The screen darkened slightly, indicating the battery saver was about to black out the screen. He tapped it to keep it lit, accidentally moving to the previous photo in his camera roll.

Crowley stared at the photo he had taken of himself next to Dana, making silly faces, on the stairwell less than an hour prior. Almost as if by reflex, he flipped to the next photo, and the next, going through the photos he had taken since leaving the hospital the day before. He passed a few more pictures of Dana, a couple of Louis, and stopped on a photo of Aziraphale, smiling at him from across the table during lunch.

The more Crowley thought about it, the more he wondered. _Had_ he truly been alone? He knew some things for certain, but others, not so much. He laughed quietly as he looked around his room to see all of his plants, both those from Aziraphale, rescued from the fallen shelf and repotted, as well as those he had received while in the hospital from Louis, Dana, Tracy, and more. He _thought_ he had been alone all this time. He bit his lip gently, sighing contentedly, slowly understanding just how wrong he had been.

“I _can_ do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ballantine McAvoy/Ashtoreth Crowley Is Baal  
>  Anathalie McAvoy is Anat(h)  
>  Malcom is Molech.  
>  Ashtoreth is, according to many Hebrew scholars, an intentional combination of the Greek name Astarte and the Hebrew word Boshet, which means shame. (Boshet was used in place of Baal) In Akkadian, she is Asdartu, the masculine form of Ishtar/Anat. They are both associated with Venus and stars, depending on what you read, of course.  
>  Astarte/Ashtoreth and Anat(h) were sisters, ALSO depending on what you read. Anath was also the sister of Baal. Anath gives birth to her brother’s child and gives it to him, but for the purposes of the story, it wasn’t her brother’s child until she gave it to him, okay? This isn’t that sort of fic. 😉 Anyway, Molech sacrificed children, and he sometimes gets mixed up with Baal, so that’s the father. There’s a lot more to the mythology here, and it’s INCREDIBLY FASCINATING, even if a lot of it conflicts. I picked and chose bits I wanted to make this work, even though I could have just picked names out of the air. I like having something underneath what I do, though, to add a richness, I think, to the story. Feel free to check out a couple of links, as well as looking into it on your own if you’re into it. Worth reading.  
>  https://www.britannica.com/topic/Astarte-ancient-deity  
>  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astarte
> 
> Coloboma genetics, if you’re into it, show the mutation pattern can run in families is more common in males. As far as running in families, Anathalie (being AFAB) could have had the gene but not necessarily the mutation to cause the coloboma, where Ashtoreth (being AMAB) could have had a stronger mutation form, like Crowley did. 
> 
> The Beaumont Society is a real organization that has been pioneering the rights of the transgender community for decades. One of the first conferences about it took place in Leeds in 1974. If you’re interested in reading up on the Beaumont Society, you can find loads of wonderful information here. <https://www.beaumontsociety.org.uk/>
> 
> I'm editing this to add, I forgot to mention that if you want sneak peeks at art for upcoming chapters, hit me up on Instagram! (Full art posts on Patreon at the same time as the partial previews of WIP post on Instagram.)  
>  <https://www.instagram.com/amadness2method/>  
>  Also edited to add that I accidentally left the black background on the interstitial art when I uploaded it. I have fixed that, but here are both to compare:  
> 
> 
>   
> Ashtoreth's linebreak art is now available as stickers, magnets, wall art, shirts, etc in my [Teepublic Store.](https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/8884593-music-and-manuscripts-stars)


	39. I Have Set Foot In That Region Of Life Where It Is Not Possible To Go With Any More Intention Of Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answers are always in the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There are some descriptions of violence here, though I have made every attempt to keep them from being graphic. Blood _is_ mentioned, however, along with some possibly disturbing descriptions of _how_ certain events happened in the past, as experienced from Aziraphale's perspective. 
> 
> Chapter title: “I have set foot in that region of life where it is not possible to go with any more intention of returning”  
> ― Dante Alighieri, La Vita Nuova

Aziraphale’s pocket vibrated several times in a row.

> **😁😘😉🙄😟  
>  😦😞😷😤🌞  
> 👽😼💙💞💥  
> 💬👅👎👊🤙  
> ✍** **️** **🙆🛀🚴🏂  
>  🦹🤴👩🔬👩  
> ❤** **️** **💋👨🌷🍃  
>  🌵❄** **️** **🌦** **️** **⚡🌎  
>  🌕🐻🦝🦄🦄  
> 🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄  
> 🦄🦄🦕🐕🐑  
> 🐣🐡🐚🦠🌽  
> 🍞🍦☕🚀🎈  
> 🖼** **️** **📀🧬💚🚫  
>  🔇🎶❎🆗⚕** **️**
> 
> **Are you quite  
>  all right?**
> 
> **🦄🦄🦄🦄🦄**
> 
> **My, that certainly  
> ** **seems to be a lot  
>  of unicorns.**
> 
> **🙄**
> 
> **Use your words.**
> 
> **🆗👎 🔇**
> 
> **Did you have a  
>  stroke?**
> 
> **🙄😟😦😞😤**
> 
> **I really have no  
>  idea what you’re  
>  getting at.**

Aziraphale’s phone began to ring. “Yes?” Aziraphale answered cautiously.

“Well, I had _intended_ to ask what the plans were for dinner tonight,” Crowley rattled off, “But my mobile screen is cracked, and it has gotten _worse_. I tried to text, but apparently, only one section of the screen works. I cannot use the keyboard other than to open up emojis in one specific spot. It's a bit limiting, having one's emoji selection restricted to only one narrow band of screen. I had to get creative. I actually had to turn the mobile sideways and open voice commands to call you.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, understanding. “The plan was that I would pick you up at 7:00 to surprise you with where we went, but perhaps I should come a little earlier and take you to get your screen repaired, since you can't drive right now and I was going to pick you up anyway. I could sit with you while you wait.”

“I think I’m due an upgrade, actually,” Crowley said casually. “I wouldn’t mind a little help picking something out, if that offer still stands, of course.”

“Looking forward to it,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Crowley handed the clerk his card, looking back down to start tapping at his new phone.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Crowley said, a bit higher in pitch than normal. “I’m just checking to be certain everything was transferred properly,” Crowley explained.

Aziraphale felt his own phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing a new text notification.

> **😘🥰😍🤗😻  
>  ❤️** **🧡💛💚💙  
>  💜🖤♥️** **💘💝  
>  💖💗💓💞💕  
> ❣️** **💟💋💫**

Aziraphale rolled his eyes before addressing Crowley directly. “Really? I’m standing right here.”

Crowley looked Aziraphale up and down questioningly before tapping at his phone again.

Aziraphale’s phone vibrated _again_.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before looking at the screen again, reading out loud. “New phone, who’s this?” Aziraphale sighed heavily, to the delight of the cashier. He looked at Crowley. “Why are you like this?”

“The mobile may be new, but the behavior is not,” Crowley said, tapping at his phone again.

Aziraphale stared in disbelief as his phone vibrated yet again.

Crowley nodded towards the phone in Aziraphale’s hand. Begrudgingly, Aziraphale looked at the screen.

> **💋💪👅**

“I’ve half a mind to leave you here,” Aziraphale scoffed with a grin and a blush.

“Excuse me one moment,” Crowley said to the cashier. “I’ve got to call someone to pick me up using my new mobile.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, “If my telephone rings, so help me—”

Crowley quickly pushed the end call icon. “So, about dinner,” he asked, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he leaned against the shop counter. “Where are you taking me?”

Aziraphale looked him up and down. “McDonald’s.”

“I could go for some angry nuggets,” Crowley said with a grin. “But I know you’re joking. McDonald’s doesn’t take reservations. _You_ said you had _reservations_.”

Aziraphale flashed a momentary grin in return. “Mostly about _you_ ,” he said, turning to walk towards the exit.

Crowley grabbed his cane, quickly trying to follow Aziraphale. “You weren’t _really_ going to leave me here, were you?”

Dinner was, of course, quite lovely in an endearingly silly sort of way. It was nice, they both thought, how easily they were able to slide back into this comfort zone of flirting, both casually and near-professionally, in between bites and sips. It was all either of them could do not to combust right at the table, but somehow, they managed to make it through to the end of the evening. Aziraphale drove them back to the hotel. He got out of the car first, rushing around to help Crowley out and walk him towards the entrance to the hallway.

“May I kiss you?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley peeked at him shyly from over the top of his sunglasses. “I rather hoped you would.”

Aziraphale leaned in, one hand on Crowley’s face, the other at his hip, to bring their lips together. Crowley responded in kind, reaching up to cover Aziraphale’s hand with his own while leaning on his cane for support. They lingered, reveling in the moment.

“Uh,” Crowley whispered, breaking the kiss. “You need to go home _now_ ,” he said, clearing his throat. “ _Right now_ , before this goes any further.”

Aziraphale pouted, but pulled back all the same.

Crowley leaned in to offer one last quick peck before turning around. He somehow managed, even with a walking boot and cane, to saunter away, swinging his hips. He paused momentarily to turn his head back to wink, but kept walking down the hallway as Aziraphale watched. Upon reaching his door, Crowley flashed his eyes back towards Aziraphale as he pulled out his phone.

Aziraphale watched, waiting for the vibration in his pocket.

> **Had a lovely time  
>  can’t wait to c u  
> again ** **💞💕💋**

Aziraphale rushed home as quickly as he could without sacrificing safety or traffic laws. He had a bit of _business_ he needed very much to handle, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Crowley had already begun to handle his own as well.

Their second date was somewhat less sexually-charged, but only because they spent more time asking each other questions and _really_ enjoying the challenge of answering them. It was fascinating taking this time to get to know one another all over again. They had lived almost entirely separate lives for most of the past year, after all, and it was fascinating to learn so much more about one another, including things they had assumed and possibly taken for granted.

Later that night, Aziraphale found he couldn’t sleep. If he _truly_ wanted to let Crowley in, and he did, he knew there was something he needed to do. Reaching for his phone in the dark, Aziraphale sent a text.

> **Are you awake?**
> 
> **I could be.**
> 
> **I need to ask you  
>  something. It’s  
>  important.**
> 
> **Do I need to call  
>  you? **
> 
> **No, no calls.**
> 
> **I can’t talk.**
> 
> **Are you all right?  
>  Are you safe?**
> 
> **Oh, yes, nothing  
>  like that. I just  
>  can’t TALK. It’s  
>  about what   
> ** **happened back  
>  then.**
> 
> **I understand.**

After several minutes of texting back and forth, Aziraphale let out a frustrated growl.

> **This is hopeless.  
>  How am I supposed  
>  to do this?**
> 
> **I’m about to call you,  
>  Zach, but I don’t want  
> you to answer. Let the  
> voicemail pick it up.   
> I’ll leave a message.  
> You don’t have to   
> respond or anything.**
> 
> **Just listen to it when  
>  you get it.**

Aziraphale’s phone rang. He hit ignore to send it straight to voicemail. Normally, he found that quite rude, but he had been asked to do so, hadn’t he? It was _fine_. He waited a few minutes until the icon popped up on his phone indicating he had a message to listen to.

“Look, Zach,” Raphael began. “I know you can’t talk about this out loud. But I know you _need_ to talk about it _somehow_. I also know that you’ll go quietly insane if you have to keep typing it out on the phone. That’s not a conversation to be had over text messages. I’m proud of you for wanting to have the conversation at all, though. I need you to know that. It’s a _good_ thing, what you want to do. It’s good for _both_ of you.”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling a bit silly as he was physically indicating agreement to a voicemail, but needs must, and all that.

“I think,” Raphael’s recording continued, “That if you cannot speak, you should write it down. Write a letter. And you have my blanket permission to tell him _all_ of it. Every single detail. You don’t have to hide any of it. And he will likely have questions. Please, if you would, give him my number. Because if you aren’t going to be able to talk about it, he’s going to need to be able to speak to _someone_ that understands the situation, and can.” Raphael sighed. “I love you, Zach. Talk soon. Bye.”

Aziraphale put the phone down, thinking about what Raphael said. He walked into the living room, selecting two specific books from the shelf, and sat down at his desk.

Crowley was getting ready to begin his shift at the Inferno when he heard a knock at his door.

“Angel? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aziraphale said. “Is this a bad time?”

“That depends on what’s going on. I’m to be at work in an hour. I was just getting ready. Do I need to—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s nothing like that. I really only came to drop something off. I can speak to you while you finish, if that’s all right.”

Crowley nodded, pulling a chair over to where he had been seated in front of his mirror. He sat down, indicating Aziraphale should sit in the chair he just brought over next to him, and went back to putting on his makeup.

“It seems we’ve never been particularly _good_ at talking to one another about some things.” Aziraphale pulled an unmarked book with an emerald green cover and yellow page edging out of his satchel. He placed it on the vanity next to Crowley.

Crowley stopped what he was doing and looked back and forth between the book and Aziraphale. “Is that…”

“You wanted to read it. Go ahead. But you should know that this one isn’t like the others. It’s not a story. It’s a memoir, really. Sort of a journal.” Aziraphale brought Crowley’s fingers up to feel the faded, but still raised, scar behind his ear.

“When I was 23…” Aziraphale’s voice faltered momentarily. “S-something happened. Now, my injuries weren’t anywhere _near_ as bad as what happened to _you_ , but what happened was bad _enough_.” He pointed to a strip of paper poking out of the edge of the book. “I’ve made notes. I marked the pages for you. You can read the whole thing, if you like, but you should read what I’ve marked first. Those will give you a basic idea, but they don’t really go into detail. If you want a more graphic description, you’ll need to read more, but I don’t think you want to do that.” Aziraphale sighed, looking away. “But it’s there if you decide to. It’s _all_ there. Everything I’ve been hiding away all this time.” His eyes shifted back to meet Crowley’s own. “I don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley began, running his knuckles gently along the side of Aziraphale’s face. “I don’t know what to say other than _thank you_.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t read it,” Aziraphale said, uncomfortably. “You won’t like it.”

“No, I probably won’t, if it’s bad enough you’ve kept it to yourself for so long,” Crowley agreed. “But I like that you’re finally letting me in,” he said, flipping the book open to the first page marker. There was a photograph tucked inside.

“That was taken _before_ ,” Aziraphale said, his mouth feeling extremely dry as he swallowed with difficulty. “The _day before_ , actually.”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose high on his face as he looked from the book to Aziraphale. “No, you don’t mean…”

Aziraphale nodded sadly.

Crowley looked back down at the photo, then at the page markers in the book, flipping through to skim over a couple of the smaller sections. “You didn’t even tell your mother?”

“As far as she knew, we were mugged. I chose not to… Not to say anything, well, about the details, anyway, when I moved back home after that. We couldn’t afford to keep our flat, not with him... In, um, in the hospital and me a nervous wreck.” Aziraphale looked lost. “For the most part, I wanted her to be happy. None of that was her fault. I was already moving back home and having to take more time off from Uni, _again_. I didn't want to trouble her anymore than I already had.”

Crowley reached out to take Aziraphale by the hand. “It wasn’t _your_ fault, either.”

“Well,” Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised as he looked away. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion, really.”

“Aziraphale—”

“Yes, I _know_. I… I’m _working_ on that. I am. I know it, but you must understand, this issue of mine is old enough to drive itself to the pub to drown its _own_ issues in alcohol. That’s not something a few sessions with Maud is going to wash away. It’s going to take time to get to where I need to be, if I even _can_.”

Crowley softened, nodding his head. “I do understand, Angel. Still gonna call you out on it, though.” A bashful grin quirked across his face, lifting one cheek and one eyebrow in a way that turned Aziraphale’s heart into a puddle. “You said that it was part of the reason. Why else do you think you didn’t tell her what really happened?”

“Partly because I was scared.” Aziraphale paused, closing his eyes to shake his head with a derisive sigh. “ _Mostly_ because I was scared,” he amended. “I didn’t know… It all seems so silly now, but back then, I had already lost so much. I couldn’t bear the thought of her rejecting me for… For _who_ I am. For a while, a- _after_ , it felt like Raphael and I had been punished, though Raphael took the brunt of it.”

“Oh, Angel, you _know_ that’s not true.”

“I do, yes. I know that. I knew it back then as well, but still, I couldn’t help _questioning_ it. I know that consequences are a part of free will, but...” Aziraphale's voice trailed off as he turned timid eyes towards Crowley. “Did _you_ ever question it?”

Crowley considered for a moment. He tilted his head as his eyebrows raised, looking around the room. He thought back to that evening over two years past, of his own bargaining with God, trying to make it through to the other side of things. Chewing slightly on his bottom lip, his eyes met Aziraphale’s, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said very softly. “But then I met you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes glistened from the fond that had begun welling up within them. “I…” Aziraphale attempted to speak, but that was as far as he got.

Crowley couldn’t help but find it adorable. “I love you, too.” He took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss upon his knuckles. “And I will _never_ tire of hearing you say it, even when I have to read between all the lines across your pages to find it.” Crowley closed his eye, holding the back of Aziraphale’s hand against his own cheek. “You found me, and you saved me. And though, at times, I tried to hide it or deny it, I’ve been _yours_ ever since.”

“You know,” Aziraphale began, his voice almost as low as a whisper, “You say that I found you, that night. But I think it’s you who continues to find me. I’ve been hiding for _so long_ , Crowley.”

“I will _always_ find you, Angel, for however long you’ll have me to. Might have to get my head out of my own arse to do it, now and then, but I _will_.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, taking the book out of Crowley’s hands to close it and place it back down on the vanity. “Enough about that. I can’t think any more about that right now, not if I want to accomplish the rest of what I need to do, and it’s not as if I can actually _talk_ about it, anyway. But there _is_ a phone number, at, at the bottom of the notes, of s-someone who has requested you direct questions to him,” Aziraphale somehow managed to say. “You just read that whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale opened the satchel back up to reach inside once more. “And when you’ve finished with that, you can read this one, too, if you want,” he said, proudly. “It’s a bit newer. I started writing in this one almost two and a half years ago,” Aziraphale smiled, handing him a black book with red-edged pages. “This is a _much_ happier book, mostly.” He looked at the clock on the wall with a grimace. “I don’t want you to be late,” Aziraphale said, standing up to leave.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Crowley protested, reaching for his phone on the charger. “I can text Louis. He’ll understand.”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale said softly, cupping Crowley’s chin in his hand to tilt his head up. “I should go. I’ve already said more than I’m comfortable with now.” He leaned down to kiss Crowley’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, heading for the door.

Crowley somehow managed to make it through his shift, though his thoughts were far away from the piano, all the way into his room, bound beneath the emerald cover of the book in front of the mirror on his vanity top. All he wanted to do was sit down and read that book. By the time his shift was over, he almost forgot to grab his dinner from the kitchen before rushing back to his room.

Once he got inside, he didn’t even bother changing clothes or taking off his makeup. He grabbed the book with a green cover and sat down on the bed with his bag of food. In spite of Aziraphale’s suggestion, he opened the cover to read the first page.

> **_The Book of Raphael_ **
> 
> **_When I was a little boy, I met another little boy and fell hopelessly in love, though my young heart didn’t understand what that meant at the time. Perhaps it never did. Perhaps it never will._ **

Crowley scrunched up his nose. “I should probably follow Aziraphale’s directions before I read the rest of this,” he said out loud, reaching to open the bag he brought in with him. “I think I’m going to need some context before I read that part.”

Crowley took a large bite of the pasta that had been boxed up for him. Opening the book up to the first marker, Crowley pulled the photo out to look at it once more as he chewed and swallowed.

“I already knew what you looked like before your hair turned, but I didn’t realize you had ever let it get so fluffy before,” Crowley smiled softly as he looked over the photo of a 23-year-old Zachary, as he was known back then. “I wonder if you’d ever consider letting it grow out like that again,” Crowley wondered aloud, looking up at the ceiling with a smile. “And that’s what Raphael looked like before whatever happened to give him the scar,” Crowley mused, looking back down at the photo once more.

Crowley put the photo down and began to read.

“Come on, live a little! You’re so _stodgy_ ,” Zach said, pouting with a whine as he swung Raphael’s hands back and forth. “Please? Please, can we go? I _really_ want to go to the party. I love Halloween so much. It’s such _fun_.”

Raphael sighed. “Can’t we just stay in and watch your ridiculous horror movies instead?”

“You don’t even _like_ horror movies,” Zach said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“I like _you_ ,” Raphael said. “And _you_ like them. I’d much rather just spend the evening in with you.”

“Aziraphale doesn’t like horror movies,” Crowley muttered around a large piece of cauliflower covered in bechamel. “Says he can’t watch them without feeling horrible for the person getting hurt, like he could almost feel it himself.” Crowley said, continuing to read.

“We _always_ stay home. I want to go _out_.” Zach said with a grin and a wrinkle of his nose. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“That’s funny,” Raphael said, pulling Zach close. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

Zach looked up at him, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly, chin quivering just so with the faintest of pouts. It was _the look_ , and it was, as always, unstoppable. Zach knew the power he held on his very face, and he _reveled_ in it. He knew he could have practically _anything_ he asked for, so long as he asked like this.

A strange sound ground out from Raphael’s throat as reason was warped and bent between the gears of indulgence. He knew that when Zach wanted something, Zach got it. “Fine, we’ll go,” Raphael said, “But _only_ because you _insisted_.”

The night of the party came quickly. Zach had selected a themed couples costume for the two of them.

“What are we supposed to be?” Raphael said, looking down as Zach laced up the long, open-toed boots on Raphael’s feet.

“Sock and Buskin. You’re Buskin. That’s what _these_ are,” Zach said as he tied the laces into a bow. “I’m Sock.” He pointed to his thin slippers.”

“What?” Raphael asked, confused. “Why are we footwear?”

“We’re _not_ ,” Zach said as he stood up, brushing his hands off against his robe. “Those are just nicknames. We’re Thalia,” he pointed to himself, “And Melpomene,” he pointed to Raphael.

“Who?”

Zach sighed. “One of these days, I’m going to sit you down and we’ll have a proper lesson in the history of drama,” Zach said wearily, handing Raphael a silver half-mask while putting on his own gold one to match. “We’re Comedy and Tragedy.”

“Oh!” Raphael exclaimed, finally understanding. “Okay, I know what you’re saying now. Which one am I? And aren’t the masks supposed have mouths to show the smile and frown?”

“They don’t _need_ the mouths. You frown too much as it is.”

Raphael laughed, adjusting his mask.

“You’re _Tragedy_ , a fact which has been made quite evident in this very conversation,” Zach grinned, biting his lip and wrinkling his nose as Raphael pulled him in close for a kiss.

Crowley stuck his tongue out with a little noise of disgust before shoveling another forkful of pasta in his mouth to keep reading.

The party was being hosted at a pub in Greenwich. Zach and Raphael walked in, hand in hand, to enjoy the drinking, dancing, costumes, and pageantry of the evening. It had gotten late, though not too terribly late, when Raphael had decided he was all full-up on other people and wanted to just go home and spend the rest of the night alone together.

Zach had an idea. “All right, we can go, if that’s what you want to do. But let’s go out the back way. I want to show you something first,” he said mischievously, leading Raphael through the crowded pub towards the side exit.

They found themselves inside a semi-dark alley, moonlight bright and shining as it filtered through the buildings onto the pavement below.

“What did you want to—OOF!”

Raphael’s question was cut off when Zach pushed him up against the wall behind the pub, muffling his voice in a kiss. The two held one another, hands delicately dancing and drifting along each other’s backs, arms, and hair, leaning against the wall, for several minutes.

Zach’s eyes flew open as he felt Raphael tense up beneath his hands, seeing a look of fear on his face. Zach began to turn around right before he felt something strike him in the head.

Suddenly, Raphael wrapped his arms around Zach, spinning them around so that Zach’s back was against the wall and Raphael was in front of him. Zach could feel something wet running down his neck from behind his ear. The two locked eyes momentarily before movement in his peripheral vision caught Zach’s attention.

“Stop!” Zach shouted, but it was too late. The bat had come down, catching Raphael on the side of his face with a sickening thud, sending the mask he wore flying. Raphael staggered, clutching his head.

A fist collided with Zach’s midsection, knocking him to the ground. Raphael scrambled over to lie on top of Zach, protecting him, using his own body as a shield. “I’ve got you,” Raphael whispered, clutching Zach tightly even as the blood from the wound across his face and scalp dripped down onto Zach’s mask.

Helpless and pinned down to the ground by the weight of Raphael on top of him, Zach watched as the bat came down over and over again, looking between it and the pained terror in Raphael’s eyes as he felt the remnants of each impact travel through Raphael’s body into his own.

Crowley closed the book momentarily, sliding the photograph back in as a bookmark. “This is where I’d take a drink if I could still drink, I think,” he said aloud, running his hands over his face. “Tea,” he said after a moment. “I need tea.”

He stood up, grabbing his cane, and walked over to the kitchenette. Crowley filled a cup with water and reached to put it in the microwave before stopping himself. Even though he personally didn’t mind microwaving water for tea, somehow it felt _wrong_ to do it like this _right now_ , knowing how Aziraphale felt about it. “He’s not even going to ever _see_ this tea,” Crowley scoffed to himself as he started the kettle anyway. “No use adding insult to injury, I suppose,” Crowley muttered, glancing quickly over at the book sitting on the foot of his bed.

It felt like a very human thing, making tea. There was a process to it, really, a bit of a routine. In some ways, it was very grounding. It was a reminder of how everything came along, in its own way. while still giving one a moment to sit back and wait, to observe. Wait for the heat, wait for the steep. Wait for the moment, that perfect moment just beyond the pain of too hot to taste. Don’t wait too long, or you’ll miss it and have to go again or do without. Sip. Let the warmth wash over you. Experience. In _this_ moment, what do you think about? Do you think about _anything_? Do you savor the warmth as it blooms upon your tongue? Do you consider the day you’ve had? Or are you preparing for the time that comes at the finish? Who are you going to be at the end of that cup, after that last sip?

Crowley stood there, letting the warmth of the cup soak into his hands. He stared into the liquid, scrying for answers in the milky swirls along the surface. Leaning against the worktop, he took another sip, thinking about what was happening, what it meant, and what he would eventually _do_ with that information as the heat of the drink traveled down his throat, dispersing into the very core of his being.

Aziraphale had trusted him, _entrusted_ him, with not one, but _two_ of his precious books. As far as Crowley knew, he was one of only human beings who had ever existed, other than possibly Raphael and Aziraphale himself, to look upon those pages. It was an _honor_ , and what an honor it was, then, that he would be given such a rare opportunity. It was a gift, really, for Aziraphale to let him inside like this, wasn’t it?

Gifts, in Crowley’s experience, were often a sort of burden, each in their own way. Crowley was fully willing to shoulder this particular burden, but a burden it _was_ , indeed, and _extremely_ heavy. 

When you think about it, if you think about it, everything you create is hewn from a portion of your soul. It stands to reason that there could be pain involved. But after, when you're patching yourself back up, you can at least have the satisfaction of knowing that a part of yourself is in the world making a difference to _someone_. And it would, and it _will_. That is an unspoken promise the Universe makes. No matter how large or small, no matter how insignificant we might think we are, the things we produce have _impact_ , somewhere, somehow.

This book was absolutely no exception. It was making a difference, all right. It was taking everything Crowley thought he knew and standing it on its head.

Crowley put what was left of his dinner away, having lost his appetite, and sat down to read again. He only got a few paragraphs in before he began to tremble, feeling like he might be sick.

Crowley picked up the slip of paper Aziraphale had given him, seeing the phone number at the bottom. He stood up to hobble over to where his phone was plugged on the charger. Carefully covering all but a single digit at a time, Crowley shakily dialed the number into his phone. He hesitated for a moment, leaned against the wall. He peeked into the empty medicine cabinet as he bit his thumbnail. Realizing what he was doing, or _wanting_ to do, rather, he hit _call_ instead.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end said softly, picking up after the first ring. “I’m glad you called me, Crowley.”

“It’s, uh, h-how did you know it was me?” Crowley asked, somewhat surprised.

“Linda had your number from when you two worked on that restoration project awhile back,” Raphael explained. “After I asked Aziraphale to let you know you could call me, about all of this, I saved your number in my mobile so I’d know it was you.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. “I, uh, I’m sorry to bother you. I don’t… I’ll, uh, I’ll let you go.”

“It’s all right,” Raphael said with quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t mind it. I’ve got nowhere else to be right now.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Crowley said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back down on the foot of his bed. ”I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or how to deal with _any_ of that. This… All of this, it’s weird. I…” Crowley sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to do here.”

“I know it was hard for both of you, but I’m glad he told you. I think you _needed_ to know that about him, to help you understand,” Raphael said. “But it’s important that you don’t _misunderstand_. It doesn’t excuse what he did to you, not one bit. But perhaps it might help you to have a better understanding of _why_ he panics like that, of where it’s coming from.”

“Oh, uh, y-yeah, actually. It does. He, uh, when I was in the hospital after the, the second time, my ankle ended up broken. They gave me a walking boot and a cane. He, um…”

“He lost it when he saw the cane, didn’t he? Freaked out?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly. “How did you know?”

“The same thing happened to me when he found out I couldn’t walk on my own anymore,” Raphael explained quietly. “He, um, he didn’t take it well at all.”

“Oh,” Crowley said in a small voice. “He locked himself in the bathroom for a long time. He couldn’t talk for a bit, either. All he could tell me was that you use a cane.”

“He doesn’t talk about it. He _can’t_ ,” Raphael said. “It, um, it…” Raphael blew a breath through pursed lips. “I don’t mean to minimize what I went through, or you, not one bit. But just because he didn’t have a hospital stay, doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurt, too. He’s _not_ okay, and he _hasn’t_ been okay for a very long time.”

“It fucked him up,” Crowley supplied.

“Yeah,” Raphael said softly. “It’s almost funny, in a twisted way, how that worked out. I get it, though,” Raphael said. “I may have been the one with the fractured skull and a broken hip and pelvis, but he’s the one who _watched_ it happen. I remember the look on his face. When I close my eyes, that’s all I see, sometimes. But it was what I was hanging onto at the time, something to focus on instead of the pain. It kept me steady.” Raphael paused, taking a breath while choosing his next words. “He didn’t have that. He had to watch _every single thing_ they did to me, to _both of us_.” Raphael sighed with the weary fatigue of one unable to forget but still trying to keep going in spite of it all. “And for some fucked up reason, he’s been blaming himself for it all these years, though I’m still unsure as to why. I've told him again and again it wasn't his fault, that I protected him because _I_ made that choice.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I think I can answer that for you, actually.”

“What? Did he tell you?” Raphael sounded desperate, as if he _needed_ this answer to heal something broken within himself that he, too, had kept hidden away.

“He hasn’t _technically_ told me _any_ of this, but he wrote it all down. He, uh, he wrote that you didn’t want to go to that party to begin with, and that he tempted you into it because he knew he could, that if he asked you, you’d do anything for him.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Raphael said sadly.

“And he blames himself for kissing you outside in the open. He said none of it would have happened if he had just kept himself under control, that you'd never have been hurt, never would have needed a cane.”

“Oh, _fuck_. That’s… Oh, my God.” The line went quiet, aside from the sound of an occasional shallow inhalation.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, breaking the silence.

“No,” Raphael said, sniffling quietly before he continued. “I _needed_ to know that. Thank you for telling me.” Raphael inhaled sharply. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered. “None of that was his fault.”

“I know. He’s a stubborn arsehole," Crowley said, brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh, yeah,” Raphael said. “But sometimes he can’t help it. He doesn’t know how to regulate things without just shutting them out. It’s so _frustrating_ ,” Raphael said with a sharp sigh. “But I’m sure it’s not much better for _him_ , either, if I let myself think about it for too long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, as frustrating as it is for me, and probably for you as well, I would imagine it’s even more so for him. He was always so _good_ with words, before. He was sharp, and fast, and just this utterly brilliant bastard. He could talk circles around _anyone_ , and the infuriating part is that he’d be _right_ about it, whatever it was,” Raphael said, pride and admiration heavy in his voice. “And then, after everything happened, all of that changed. He… Did he ever tell you that he wanted to be a writer? He did. He used to write little short stories and things. He was really good at it, too,” Raphael said. “I was sad when he lost his words and stopped.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale had kept his writing secret, but he hadn’t realized that not even _Raphael_ had known about it. He looked down at the book next to him, then over to the other on the table, with a renewed sense of importance.

“For me,” Raphael continued, “I was in the hospital for months, but I had that perspective shift once I actually _left_ , you know?”

“Right, yeah. I know what you mean. It’s like a divider, or a way to separate the experience, sort of,” Crowley agreed.

“Exactly,” Raphael said. “Zach never had that.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to anyone calling him by that name.”

“Sorry. Aziraphale. I _know_ better, but when I start thinking about back then, I slip back into calling him that, and I shouldn’t do that. He says he doesn’t mind, but the fact that he asked should be _enough_.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Crowley said. There was another stretch of silence before Crowley spoke again. “I don’t know what to do, Raphael. It’s a huge thing he’s done, letting me know this, and it deserves something in return to keep him going. I need some kind of action here,” Crowley pleaded. “You’ve had _years_ to figure some of this out. I’ve only had a few minutes. _Please_ , tell me what to _do_.”

“Love him.”

After talking with Raphael, Crowley went back to reading more in the book, this time sticking to the suggestion of reading only the pages and excerpts marked, all the way through to the last notation.

The book fell from Crowley’s trembling fingers. Covering his mouth with his hands, his eyes began to water.

Aziraphale, worrying over what Crowley would think of him once he read the book, once more found himself unable to sleep. He was startled by the knocking on his door, wondering who it could be in the middle of the night. It was too dark in the hallway to see through the peephole properly. Without thinking, he opened the door anyway.

“Crowley? You aren’t supposed to be driving with that boot on,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his feet. “How did you get here?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale with a strange look on his face. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, squeezing him tightly until he felt Aziraphale’s nervously tense body begin to relax. The two stood, holding onto one another, as Crowley gently moved Aziraphale’s head to rest on his shoulder. Crowley tenderly stroked his fingers through the fluffy white curls, soothingly. He tilted his head, delicately pressing his lips just behind Aziraphale’s ear. “It’s going to be all right, my Angel. You’ll see.”


	40. The More A Thing Is Perfect, The More It Feels Pleasure And Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wading through the past to make room for a brighter future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a person of any sort of legitimate legal training. I have studied extensively at the Google School for Internet Research to learn as much as I could about how the processes are done in the UK's legal system. Anything I have gotten incorrect regarding the policy and procedure in the UK, please, I hope you will be able to indulge me in this Alternate Universe scenario. More on this in the end notes.
> 
> The Chapter Title comes from The Divine Comedy.

“Aziraphale,” Enoch greeted, motioning for him to sit down. “Thank you for coming to my office. I needed to speak with you about a few things.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, sitting down. “Is everything all right?”

“Well,” Enoch sighed. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far, but they aren’t any _worse_ than they’ve been recently, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Gabe’s defence team has asked to speak with you about things. Are you available this afternoon, say around two o’clock?”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley had a meeting that afternoon with his own legal counsel. Aziraphale had offered to take him, but Crowley declined, as he would be riding in with Louis. That left his afternoon wide open.

Somehow, without the exorbitant expenses Gabe had been accruing with travel and _assorted_ _miscellany_ expense reports, Vox Dei was able to take on fewer clients, work fewer hours, and _still_ keep everyone’s wages the same. Aziraphale was mostly working from home, only coming into the office on occasion, which was fine, as the office itself had gone to half days while Enoch dealt with the Gabe situation. Aziraphale didn’t even have a physical office of his own yet. Gabe had never gotten around to assigning him one, instead letting Aziraphale work in a rolling chair against a filing cabinet in his own office.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you possibly take these books with you?” Enoch motioned to a leather bag sitting on a filing cabinet. “They’re law books,” Enoch explained. “I borrowed them to look over back when…” Enoch looked away guiltily. “Well, back when I thought this was an _isolated_ incident.” He looked back towards Aziraphale, remorse evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if that’s appropriate, or if you even _want_ it, but I feel like I owe you that, after everything.”

“Things are difficult all around right now,” Aziraphale shrugged. He wasn’t certain whether he wanted or deserved the apology, either, but he understood why _someone else_ in his situation might. Even without the things Enoch didn’t know had happened between Gabe and Aziraphale, just the rampant, unchecked homophobia alone was enough to be unbearable. “I don’t mind bringing the books back.”

“Thank you. Just drop them off with Rose at the front desk,” Enoch said. “She’ll take care of the rest.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Was that all you needed?”

“Actually, no. I wanted to tell you, regardless of how things go in court, that Gabe won’t be coming back to Vox Dei. I… He’s my son, and I love him, but I can’t condone that sort of behavior. It’s too much of a risk to have him here. It’s a risk to the clients, and it’s a risk to you,” Enoch said quietly.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting that. He was unsure how to respond, so he went with his default polite gratitude. “Thank you.”

“I understand you never were assigned an office,” Enoch continued. “As Gabe will not be returning, his office is now yours. You can leave it as-is, or change it up. Make it your own. You have the authority to sign your own expense vouchers, so do as you wish. He certainly did. I trust your tastes to run a bit less extravagant, though you’re welcome to do as you like.”

“I can get rid of that red marble monstrosity?” Aziraphale asked, arching an eyebrow to test the proverbial waters.

“Oh, _would you_? I’ve always _hated_ that,” Enoch wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Such a _vulgar_ display. No one needs a desk large enough to host the Last Supper.”

Aziraphale snorted quietly. This was a side of Enoch he had never before seen.

“Well, maybe it’s not _that_ big, but it’s quite garish.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Aziraphale said with a smile.”

Aziraphale walked into Gabe’s office, now his office, and placed the bag of books on one of the filing cabinets. He took a deep breath, looking around, before going to sit in his little rolling chair. He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes with a tilt of his head as he turned to look back around. He rolled his neck, flexing his shoulders, and strode over to the large leather wing-back chair pushed up against the unfathomably heavy marble desk.

Things looked quite different from this side of the desk, he realized as he walked around the desk twice before allowing himself to sit in the chair. It was hideous, he thought, but quite comfortable. Well, that wasn’t fair. The chair _itself_ wasn’t so bad. It was merely bad by association, both with the delusional vanity of the desk and the grand tackiness that was Gabe. Aziraphale considered possibly keeping the chair, or at least trying to find one similar to it in a more subdued color.

He looked over the things sitting on top of the desk. There wasn’t much, really, other than a few bits and bobs. The pens and pencils would be easy enough to replace, Aziraphale thought. They were of no real consequence. He probably wouldn’t even bother with it, except they were all blue ink with a wide point.

Aziraphale had always found a nice, vivid black ink to be far superior to blue. The crisp contrast was easier to read, he thought, and looked far more professional. It was a classic for a reason, and it pleased his eye. But more important to him than the color of the ink was the tip of the pen itself. Somehow, a wide point pen felt too wobbly as he wrote, almost like not wearing his safety belt when driving a car. Aziraphale preferred a fine or ultra-fine point. He liked the way the nib scratched at the paper. It reminded him of older writing implements, and added to the tactile experience of writing. Maybe it was a silly thing, but it was important to him. It comforted him.

Aziraphale picked up the pen cup, staring at the pens inside of it. Gabe had _insisted_ Aziraphale use blue, wide point pens. Aziraphale had always wondered about that. He didn’t recall it ever being an issue until he had mentioned his preference while asking about ordering another box of pens. Ever after, anything Aziraphale had provided in a black fine line had to be redone with a blue pen.

Into the bin they went, cup and all.

Aziraphale started pulling open drawers in the desk, removing everything. The intention was to sort through what he would keep, but it all went into the bin. After all was said and done, Aziraphale found that there was nothing left inside of the drawers or on the top of the desk other than the marble name plate holder with a thin, acrylic plate that read, “ _GABRIEL HEROLD_.”

Quietly sliding the acrylic plate out of the holder, Aziraphale held it between his hands. He slowly bent it, eye twitching slightly as he increased the pressure. Snapping it into as many pieces as he could before his fingers gave up, Aziraphale dropped the broken pieces into the bin, followed by the holder itself.

Aziraphale let out a breath of satisfaction. He stood up, brushed his hands off, and went for the door. “The books! Oh, the books,” he said, turning around to walk back over to the filing cabinet where he had placed the bag to pick it up. “I forgot all about the books.”

Bag in hand, he headed out, turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

Aziraphale approached the law firm, books in hand, for the deposition.

“Hello,” he greeted the woman looking around the front desk. “You must be Rose,” he said, placing the books in front of her.

She looked at him with confusion.

“Enoch Herold asked that I return these books for him. He said to—"

“Mr. Fell,” A voice called out from behind him.

“Mr. Glozier?” Aziraphale said, turning around.

“You are late, but not to worry,” Glozier said, motioning for Aziraphale to follow down the hall.

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry,” Aziraphale apologized as the two walked together. “I’m afraid I was a bit caught up at the office and became distracted. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

Glozier shook his head. “It would appear everyone else is running late as well.” He shouldered against the door gently before pushing it open. “It sticks sometimes in the humidity,” Glozier explained.

“Mr. Harmony,” Aziraphale greeted as he entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fell,” Harmony said. “Please, have a seat.”

Aziraphale looked up as the woman he had given the books to walked in. “Hello again, Ms. Rose,” he said politely.

“Yes, about that…” She began, looking embarrassed.

“Allow me to introduce Greta Kleinschmidt,” Glozier said. “She works with us.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, startled. “I was under the misconception that your name was Rose. When my step-father told me that Rose at the front desk would take the books… Well, I do apologize for the mix-up.”

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Fell,” she reassured him. “Rose is out of the office on an errand. I’ve only recently joined the firm within the last few weeks.”

“Where were we?” Glozier asked, trying to get back to business. “Oh, yes. Relieving you from the proceedings.”

“But I’m to give a statement,” Aziraphale said, confused. “I’ve done the paperwork.”

“Yes,” Glozier agreed. “You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Fell. But…” He looked pained. “I’m not quite certain how to put this delicately.”

There was a loud thud against the door. Aziraphale heard the muffled _ouch_ of a familiar voice, along with a string of expletives.

“Apologies for our tardiness,” Baddicombe said, walking in and holding the door open for Crowley, Louis, and another person Aziraphale did not recognize. “Our client doesn’t get around so well these days.”

“He’s not terribly proficient with opening doors, either,” Louis said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Crowley said, red-faced. He cut his eyes briefly towards Louis before hobbling over to a chair next to Aziraphale.

“Mr. Anthony J Crowley,” Glozier greeted. “Your fame precedes you.”

Crowley nodded a silent greeting.

“Now that we are all here,” Harmony said as everyone sat down around the conference table, “Might we continue?”

Kleinschmidt nodded. “Mr. Herold has requested that you be involved in his defence, Mr. Fell,” she explained.

“However, we have been informed that our client is _unaware_ of your involvement with the opposition,” Glozier added. “And, at least for the duration of the proceedings, we’d appreciate it if we could _keep_ it that way.”

“We’ve decided it would be most prudent for you _not_ to be in attendance during sentencing,” Harmony provided. “We wouldn’t want learning of your sexual orientation to affect our client’s sentence.”

Crowley leaned forward, fire in his eyes, and took a deep breath as if to speak. Louis reached a calming hand out towards him. Considering something, Crowley quickly closed his mouth and sat back.

“Sentencing? I thought there would be a trial first,” Aziraphale said, confused.

“There will be no need for a trial,” Glozier explained. “Your brother—”

“ _Step_ -brother,” Aziraphale and Crowley corrected, simultaneously.

“Apologies. Your _step-brother_ has already plead guilty, with certain exceptions, in the pre-trial hearing in the hopes of a more lenient sentence due to mitigating circumstances.”

“More lenient?” Aziraphale asked.

“Perhaps another stay in a rehabilitation center,” Glozier suggested.

“Because the last one went so _well_ ,” Crowley muttered, looking at his walking boot and tapping his cane against the floor a few times.

Baddicombe smirked ever so politely and professionally at Glozier, who returned it in kind.

The gentleman Aziraphale didn’t recognize spoke up. “We also would prefer that Mr. Fell were not involved further.”

“Uh, yes, thank you, Mr. Robey,” Baddicombe said.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s a conflict of interest,” Baddicombe said.

“For everyone involved,” Glozier agreed, though he was loathed to do so. “Our client expects you to provide him with a character testimony, however, you are quite obviously biased.”

“But none of that should matter,” Aziraphale reasoned. “The truth is the truth, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that be withholding evidence? I know it would be uncomfortable, but—”

“Mr. Fell,” Robey interrupted, “Nothing is being withheld from the record. The court has been made aware of the situation. That being said, both sides have reason to believe that your presence, as well as the nature of your relationship with Mr. Crowley, will adversely affect _both_ parties without adding anything of value to the proceedings.”

Crowley glared angrily, but said nothing.

Robey continued. “The defence wishes to keep their client from having an outburst, thus negating any of the progress they intend to focus on during the sentence hearing. The prosecution would like to avoid the same thing, so as to prevent any shred of possibility that the case is delegitimized.”

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said. “How would that be an issue?”

“They’re concerned both Mr. Herold as well as Mr. Crowley might react to your presence in an _impassioned_ manner,” Louis said with a grin.

Aziraphale still wasn’t quite following.

“If _he_ directs his anger towards _you_ , _I’ll_ direct _mine_ to _him_ ,” Crowley explained quietly, looking straight into Aziraphale’s eyes to do so.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, understanding flashing through his mind suddenly.

“We’re all in agreement that none of us wants that,” Kleinschmidt confirmed.

The farce of a deposition, if one could call it that at this point, continued as almost everyone at the table spoke in professionally aggressive tones at one another.

“Had _your_ client not attacked _our_ client, for a _second time_ , mind you, that _never_ would have happened,” Baddicombe huffed. “You’ve seen the footage. It was _very clearly_ your own client’s fault.”

“But it _did_ happen,” Glozier returned.

“As Mr. Crowley and Mr. Asture are both in my employ, Mr. Asture was doing _his job_ as a bodyguard in protecting my assets after your client broke Mr. Crowley’s ankle and rendered him unconscious,” Louis replied coolly. “But please, tell me _more_ about the hardship a broken arm has created for _Mr. Herold_. Which is his punching arm? I _forget_.”

“What do you take us for, Mr. Eiffer?” Glozier asked.

“A bunch of na—”

Robey cut Louis off with a glare. “This line of arguing is getting us nowhere.”

“You should be accustomed to that by now,” Glozier replied sarcastically, “Given the nature of your firm’s senior partners.”

Baddicombe was becoming angry. “I won’t be played for a sucker, here. If you intend to—”

“Played for a sucker,” Harmony laughed as he flipped through the notes in front of him. “I must remember that. _I_ am played for a sucker, _you_ are played for a sucker. _He, she, or it_ will be played for a sucker.”

Crowley leaned in towards Aziraphale to whisper. “Do you think _we’re_ supposed to be in here for this?”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly. “I have _no_ idea.”

“You know, if it weren’t for Gabe’s legal team, I’d be a bit concerned. My lot don’t appear to be very sophisticated, politically speaking. But both sides are bickering like children!”

Aziraphale laughed quietly. “This is _exactly_ what they do. They get all of this out of the way in these conferences, all the petty bickering, and put everything out on the table, so to speak. Then, when they go before the judge, jury, magistrate, or wherever the case ends up, they put on their grown-up faces and act as if this were all quite civil.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, fascinated.

Aziraphale nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“And that’s just how it always works?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say with certainty. But that’s how the Vox Dei legal team works, and apparently Louis’s team as well.”

“Yes, I’ve seen Louis do something similar when he’s trying to suss out information, though he’s far smoother about it,” Crowley agreed. “This here, however, this is ridiculous.” Crowley sighed.

“Admit it. You’re enjoying it, at least a little.”

“Eh,” Crowley’s eyebrows raised as his head tilted from side to side. “Possibly a _bit_ ,” he admitted. “Though I _do_ wonder how they’re going to handle this during the _actual_ hearing.” He looked back at Aziraphale. “At least you won’t have to sit through it all over again.” Crowley smiled. “One less thing for me to worry over.”

“Look, I know they said they said neither side wanted me as a witness,” Aziraphale began, “But I’m still going to _be_ there, even if I’m not to participate.”

“No, out of the question. That was the purpose of this…” Crowley waved his hand towards the participants in the ridiculous conversation before them, “This whole thing today. Well,” Crowley said as he looked over at the legal professionals and the underworld mastermind arguing like upstanding toddlers. “That and the bickering, I suppose.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised in a bemused smile.

“But that’s between them, not us,” Crowley said, turning back towards Aziraphale.

“I’m going to _go_ to be _supportive_ of you,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand into his own.

“No, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley…”

“I’ve already outed you once over all of this,” Crowley said miserably. “I won’t do it again.”

“But that was _different_. And besides, that all worked out regardless, didn’t it?”

“Eh, uh, wha—?” Crowley sputtered in disbelief. “You can’t be _serious_ , Angel. I mean, yes, it’s great that it worked out with Gia and Enoch, but you don’t _actually_ expect Gabe to welcome that with open arms, do you? Open _fists_ , maybe, but…” Crowley stared back, wide-eyed, shaking his head. “You’ve seen for yourself what he’s capable of.”

“I _need_ to be there for you, Crowley.”

“I’m the plaintiff. _I_ need to be there, Angel. _You_ don’t.”

“Yes, I _do_. I _need_ to be there, Crowley,” Aziraphale tried to convince him. He truly did want to be there for Crowley, but another part of him wanted to see, to be certain it was real. “It’ll be okay, I just _know_ it.”

“ _Aziraphale Zachary Pollyanna Motherfucking Fell_!”

Everyone at the table stopped arguing abruptly, turning their heads towards Crowley.

“You will _listen_ to me and you’ll not step _one toe_ in there, do you understand me? I don’t want you _anywhere_ _near_ that monster.”

“Crow—”

“You _owe_ me this,” Crowley said, the ice of the words only barely numbing how sharp they were. He was sick to his stomach as soon as the words slipped out, but nevertheless firm in his point. “You _know_ you do. And we _both_ know _what’s_ happening and _why_ now.”

Aziraphale looked vaguely towards Crowley without being able to look him in the eye. Crowley couldn’t tell if it was guilt, shame, or fear that began to glisten in the corner of Aziraphale’s eye, but it was likely as anything to be at least some form of combination.

“Promise me, Angel,” Crowley said, voice far softer than he had used in the conversation thus far. “Promise me and _mean_ it.” Crowley paused, placing his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders gently. “Oh, fuck, you don’t even _need_ to mean it. Just _do_ it,” he whispered. “ _Please_.”

Aziraphale was surprised when Crowley had asked him to give him a lift to the sentencing a week prior, though he didn’t argue. He had every intention of going in spite of all that had happened. It wasn’t that he wanted to _defy_ Crowley, but he was… Concerned. Aziraphale couldn’t _help_ feeling concerned. It was a lot, he thought, to face down Gabe like this. Aziraphale was all too familiar with that feeling.

Aziraphale knocked on Crowley’s door. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as the door opened.

“Oh, I think perhaps I’ve got the wrong room!”

“Hello, stranger.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Aziraphale asked, moving in to accept the hug offered to him.

“I’m here to _thwart_ you,” Raphael grinned, squeezing tightly before releasing Aziraphale from the hug.

“I called in the cavalry,” Crowley grinned. “I’ll be riding with Louis to the sentencing. You’re staying here, with Raphael. Or going out. I don’t really care as long as you stay away from the hearing.”

“Foul serpent,” Aziraphale groused.

Raphael clutched at his chest over his heart. “Oh, you _wound_ me,” he grinned.

“Not _you_ ,” Aziraphale clarified. “The _other_ foul serpent.”

“You really _do_ have a type, don’t you, Mr. Fell?” Louis said, looking between them with amusement.

Crowley let out a quacking laugh before leaning in to wrap his arms around Aziraphale. “Louis and I have to go now, Angel. You play nice with Raphael.” Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “When I’m done, will you come for me? You can’t be in the courtroom, but you were right that I’d need you, at least when it’s over.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, squeezing him gently.

“Just you and me.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Anything you like.”

“So,” Aziraphale asked after he and Raphael were left alone. “How did you get roped into this?”

“Crowley called me a couple of weeks ago and asked if I could make the trip,” Raphael answered.

“A couple of weeks ago?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“He said that you argued with him about it when you found out you weren’t going to be a witness. He was worried you might try something foolish.”

“Well,” Aziraphale sighed, “He was probably right, though I’m sorry you had to go to such trouble. Where are you staying? At least let me help with that.”

“No trouble at all. Louis is providing me with a complimentary room here, actually. I don’t mind babysitting.” Raphael grinned. “I’ve even been given pizza money, if you behave yourself.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the text on his phone. “It’s done,” he said, staring at the screen. It had been several hours since Louis and Crowley left. Aziraphale wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“All right,” Raphael said. “The plan was that I would distract you while the sentencing was happening, but after that, you needed to go spend time with Crowley. You can go and take care of that, and I’ll go to my room. I need to call Linda to update her on things, anyway. I will see you both tomorrow, and not a moment sooner, all right?”

Aziraphale nodded with a smile, standing up to leave. “Thank you.”

“Honestly, my head is swimming right now,” Crowley said. “Probably better off discussing this with Louis later, but if I remember this right, they said something about it being a Category 1 with multiple aggravating factors. I want to say those were some of the important words, whatever that means. Well, specifically, anyway. Overall, I know it means that Gabe has his housing sorted for the next 47 years, at least.”

Aziraphale felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In this case, it was a surprisingly nice sensation. He _wanted_ to smile, but wasn’t certain that it would be appropriate.

“I was too nervous to eat earlier, but now I’m quite _peckish_ ,” Crowley said, breaking the silence finally. “Could we go somewhere?”

“Is this a date?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said. “It didn’t feel as though it _should_ be,” Aziraphale agreed.

“No, this Is more along the lines of a coping strategy, I think,” Crowley said with a wry grin.

“Agreed. Tea?”

“Love to.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Crowley asked, tracing a fingertip along the edge of his tea cup. “Purely out of curiosity. It’s fine either way.”

Aziraphale took a sip of tea. “What?”

“In your book, you and Raphael lived together.”

“We did in the real world, as well,” Aziraphale said with a grin, looking over the selection of nibbles on the tray before them.

“When I first met him, you said he may have shared your bed, but he never shared your home.”

“Right,” Aziraphale nodded. “So, what is the question?” He dabbed a bit of jam on a scone.

Crowley stared at him. “ _That_. That’s the question.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, suddenly understanding. “Yes. I never _asked_ Raphael to move in with me after… A-after everything changed. But before… We were roommates for over a year before we realized our feelings for one another were mutual. I’m sorry. I can see how that would have been confusing.”

“It’s fine. It just, I was just curious,” Crowley shrugged. “The past is the past, after all.”

“I should have been clearer in what I meant at the time. I’m sorry.” Aziraphale thought for a moment, realizing what he was doing _again_. “And, if I’m being honest, I think some of it was me being defensive and trying to keep that part of my past hidden, to convince _myself_ along with you.” He sighed. “I’ve spent so many years denying and hiding _everything_. So, yes. We lived together _before_ , but he never stayed in my home _after_. After… E-everything happened, he had only visited my home once, and for a very short time. Everything else ever happened in hotel rooms. I think it was easier for me to rationalize that, somehow. Since then, no one has ever stayed the night in my home but you.”

Crowley reached over to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand reassuringly. Ever since Aziraphale had let him read the book, he felt like he had a lot more insight into Aziraphale’s inner workings. Crowley had made certain to hide both books prior to Raphael showing up, of course, to preserve Aziraphale’s secret. He understood far too well how important it could be to keep some things private, and didn’t begrudge Aziraphale for it in this instance, particularly as that was so far in the past, as well as being a perfectly reasonable thing regardless, living with one's partner. In the present, Aziraphale had readily admitted to it. That counted for something, Crowley thought. That was _growth_.

Aziraphale’s text notification chimed. Checking to see what the message was, he tapped out a quick response while taking the last bite from his plate.

“Everything all right?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, yes. Quite. That was Enoch,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his face gently with his napkin. “He wanted to know if I wouldn’t mind popping into the office tonight to take care of a bit of paperwork he needs first thing in the morning. He meant to ask me about it earlier, but, well…” Aziraphale shrugged.

“Oh, yes, it’s been a bit of a _day_ all around. He looked absolutely _miserable_. I can understand how he might have been distracted.”

“Did you want me to drop you off first, or would you like to see where I work?”

“Take me with you, of course,” Crowley grinned.

“This used to be Gabe’s office,” Aziraphale said, unlocking and opening the door. “This was his desk, too. I’m actually replacing it, along with most everything _else_ in here, but I’ll have to use it until the new one arrives.”

“This was Gabe’s desk?” Crowley asked, arching an eyebrow as he tilted his head in thought. “The homophobic bastard, Gabe?” He ran a fingertip along the surface, never taking his eyes off of the desk itself.

“That would be the one, yes. He was rather fond of this desk, actually. Hand-carved details. Shame, really, that I can’t stand to look at it.”

“Fuck me on it.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows, along with the pitch of his voice, jumped up. “What?”

“Okay, hear me out,” Crowley said, raising his hands up in defense of his point. “This doesn’t _change_ anything in our arrangement. We’re still taking things slow, but… I _really_ want to have lewd gay sex all across that bastard’s desk before it’s too late. You know, just a one shot. Give it a nice little send off.”

Aziraphale still hadn’t processed anything Crowley had said. “Wait, what?”

“I intend to rub my naked arse and bollocks _all across_ this thing, Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a wicked grin. “And if you’d like to do any rubbing of this arse,” he patted his own backside twice for emphasis, “This is a free pass.”

“How is it possible that you’re turned on by this desk?”

“It’s not the _desk_ , Aziraphale. I’m sending a _Fuck You, Gabe_ out into the Universe. You know, you send out into the universe what you want back.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It _is_. I read it somewhere.”

Aziraphale scoffed as he locked the office door. “This is ridiculous.”

“How much of the stuff on top of this desk is yours?” Crowley asked, tilting his head thoughtfully as he eyed the items on the desk with a look of determination.

“ _All_ of it.”

“Oh,” Crowley pouted, beginning to carefully stack up the papers and other items on the desk.

“You wanted to sweep everything dramatically into the floor, didn’t you?”

“It looks so _sexy_ when they do that in the movies,” Crowley whined. “None of this, ‘ _oh, excuse me, but could you mind the pen? I received it as a gift for graduation_.” Crowley said in a ridiculous voice as he continued to clear away the things on the desk.

Aziraphale stared at him in snide amazement as he took one of the stacks Crowley had made and placed it on the filing cabinet next to the window. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

Aziraphale walked around behind Crowley, who was leaning over the desk to brush a few hole punch paper dots off of the now vacant desk top.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale’s hands slipped to the buttons on Crowley's trousers. “So, no one else is here this late but us, am I understanding this correctly?”

“You are,” Aziraphale answered, lowering the zipper.

“And we can be as loud as we want to, yeah?” Crowley asked, leaning back against Aziraphale and closing his eyes.

“Mm-hmm,” Aziraphale hummed in confirmation as he pushed his fingers under the waistband of both trousers and pants, dragging them down.

Crowley lifted his feet, one at a time, to allow Aziraphale to slip his feet and legs free of the walking boot and the clothes that had previously bound them. Aziraphale made as if to put the walking boot back onto Crowley’s foot. “Oh, you can leave that off. I get to take it off a little bit each day now, to help wean myself off of it.”

“That’s wonderful,” Aziraphale said, gently placing a kiss to Crowley’s ankle.

“Right, so I was thinking, maybe we could try something different.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Aziraphale asked, leaning forward against Crowley’s back as he stood up.

“Uh, I, I was hoping _you_ might, actually. I really can’t think of anything specific just now.”

“Ah, I see,” Aziraphale said, slowly pushing Crowley down onto the desk. “As luck would have it, I _do_.” Rolling up his sleeves, Aziraphale nudged his knee to encourage Crowley to spread his legs open wider as he lay face-down on the desk.

“If you want to grab my bag, there’s a tube of jelly from the hospital in it, you know, _just in case_ ,” Crowley said with an excited grin, pointing to a chair while unable to see Aziraphale crouching down behind him. “Oh,” Crowley said as he felt Aziraphale’s thumbs brush over his entrance, fingers digging gently against the edge of his haunches to spread him open. “I suppose you’re just going to go for it, then, are y— _aaaAAAA_!” Crowley slammed his open palm down against the desk, crying out at the unexpected sensation of warm, wet heat sliding from his bollocks up to the base of his spine.

Crowley gasped, trying to find his wits about him. “What was tha— _aaaAAA oh, fuck, there it is again!_ ” He grabbed the edge of the desk as the second swipe of a velvet tongue passed over him.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked with a teasingly throaty laugh. He flicked his tongue across the skin where Crowley’s thigh met his buttock, reveling in the way it made Crowley jump, as he waited for an answer.

“I don’t know yet,” Crowley said, swallowing loudly and closing his eyes. “But keep going so I can come to an informed decision.”

“That _was_ the idea, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, grinning against Crowley’s skin as he nipped his way back up.

“Oh, you, uh, heh, pun unintended,” Crowley struggled to say, ending in more of a whine than a word as Aziraphale’s lips feathered up to brush lightly over his center. He gripped the edge of the desk with both hands to brace himself, tensing up as he did so.

“Darling, you need to relax,” Aziraphale said, rubbing firm hands soothingly into the tightened muscles of Crowley’s backside. “If you tense up, this isn’t going to be very effective,” he explained. “But if you’d like me to stop, all you have to do is say—”

“No, I don’t want you to stop,” Crowley said quickly. “It’s just, it’s _different_. I don’t know what to _do_ with that yet.”

“That’s quite all right,” Aziraphale’s voice was low and calming. “All you need to do is _enjoy_ it. You can’t do that if you’re tense. But you needn’t worry over that, either. We can take our time. We can do anything you want. If you change your mind at any time, we can stop, or we can do something else entirely.” Crowley had already begun to relax when Aziraphale reached up to rub reassuring circles against his lower back. “You’re in control of how we proceed, all right?”

Crowley relaxed further, opening his legs a little more. “All right,” Crowley agreed as he reached his right arm behind him to take Aziraphale’s right hand into his own, squeezing it gently.

“I’m going to start again,” Aziraphale said, his voice low with want before his lips placed a soft kiss at the target of his intentions.

Crowley’s back arched slightly, the breath inside of him escaping in a tumultuous rush as the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue pressed delicately against him. His knees bent, lifting up his feet, when the angel’s tongue breached his entrance.

Aziraphale carefully spread Crowley’s thighs further apart. He held his knees, placing Crowley’s calves upon his own shoulders as he worked him open with a wet and willing tongue. Of all the notes Aziraphale had ever heard Crowley sing, the ones currently spilling from that lithe, sinewy throat were quickly becoming his favorite song.

The sun had almost completely set as Crowley began to tremble, his hips jerking slightly. His legs tightened around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale pressed further in as Crowley came, making a mess across the front of the desk while Aziraphale licked into him with each aftershock.

Still shaking, Crowley turned his head back to look at Aziraphale behind him. "Jesus _fuck_ , Angel, were you trying to check my back teeth?" His eyes widened when he noticed something in particular. “Oh, you’ve got the sleeves rolled up those sexy arms. _Fuck_ , do you know what that _does_ to me? Let me turn around. _Please_. Let me _see_ you.”

Aziraphale stood up, running his hands along Crowley’s back as he did so. “You say that about _everything_.”

“Eh, well, y-yeah.” Turning around, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the waistband of his trousers to pull him close enough to kiss before finishing his thought. “Still true, though,” he grinned, unfastening buttons and zippers to shove all of it down at the same time. “You’ll need to grab my bag, because I don’t think I can walk over there like this,” Crowley laughed. “M’ all wibbly-wobbly after all the dirty things you’ve done to me thus far.”

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in a delighted grin and did as instructed. He offered his hand underneath the opened tube Crowley held out after putting the bag back on the filing cabinet. He helped Crowley sit back on the edge of the desk with one hand before reaching down to slick himself with the other.

“Oh, look at that,” Crowley said, tilting his head appreciatively while he ran his hands over Aziraphale’s forearms. “Stroke it a few times so I can watch those muscles flex,” Crowley asked, biting his lip and widening his eyes slightly in excitement.

Aziraphale laughed, but did as he was asked before lining up with Crowley to slide himself in.

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed, leaning back slightly to enjoy the stretch. “Why did we stop doing this again?”

“Because we have a bad habit of having sex instead of talking out our problems,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward to nuzzle against Crowley’s throat while pressing in deeper.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, closing his eyes. “Right. Yeah, o-okay. That sounds about right.”

Aziraphale put a supporting arm around Crowley’s back as he began to move within him. His lips roamed along Crowley’s throat between thrusts of his hips. He became frustrated by Crowley’s shirt, as it was interfering with his ability to kiss every inch of Crowley’s skin. Aziraphale growled softly, sinking his teeth gently into Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley, instinctively realizing what Aziraphale wanted, stretched his arms up as he pulled the shirt over his head, accidentally hitting one of the pendant lights above them. Aziraphale closed his eyes, nuzzling in closer while adoring the taste of the prize upon his tongue.

Upon opening his eyes, Aziraphale became distracted as the light overhead swung back and forth, casting moving shadows along the wall.

How many times had Gabe set that same light swinging after jumping up from his chair to corner Aziraphale? He couldn’t remember. It had happened so many times he had lost count.

Nearly mesmerized by the painfully familiar shadows rocking back and forth across the room, Aziraphale had begun to lose focus. He struggled to stay in the moment, here, with Crowley.

_Crowley_.

Gabe _hurt_ Crowley. Gabe _kept_ hurting Crowley.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley back on the desk, climbing up over him. He had a desperate need to shield him, to envelop him, to _protect_ him. Aziraphale’s movements stilled as a thought occurred to him, unbidden.

“That’s what _he_ did,” Aziraphale murmured quietly to himself, or so he thought.

“What?” Crowley asked, appreciating the moment to catch his breath while Aziraphale’s hips were stopped.

“That’s what Raphael did.”

“Uh,” Crowley began, eyebrows furrowing. “As much as I like Raphael, could you _please_ not talk about your ex, who happens to be in town, while you’re fucking me?”

“No, I, uh, I was trying to, I… I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, burying his face into Crowley’s neck.

“What’s going on, Angel?” Crowley asked, realizing something was wrong. His voice quickly turned soft, gentle, and unguarded. “Are you all right?”

Aziraphale made as if to pull away, but Crowley tightened his legs and arms around him. Recognizing Crowley had no intention of letting go, Aziraphale pulled Crowley up with him. He stood in front of the desk while Crowley remained both perched on the edge as well as wrapped around his hips. Aziraphale brought their foreheads together for a moment to gather his thoughts.

How could he explain why he was thinking about Raphael all of the sudden? The thoughts had _already_ interfered with things, but even _that_ had gone better than it could have. It’s not like he cried out Raphael’s name or anything. He was simply _reminded_ of a few things, one of which made him think of Raphael. Aziraphale hoped Crowley would understand.

“I, uh… When…” Aziraphale didn’t know how to explain what just occurred to him. “I was trying to protect you, just now.”

“From what?” Crowley asked, taking Aziraphale’s face in his hands.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know. Gabe, the world, _everything_ , I think. It all got so overwhelming, being in here, with all of it so fresh and renewed in my mind, I…” Aziraphale closed his eyes to block out the last few swings of the light fixture. His voice trailed off as his face contorted while he struggled to maintain his composure. “The light moving, the shadows,” Aziraphale swallowed loudly. “It reminded me of… Of _things_ that happened in here. I… I wanted to cover you up entirely so nothing else could hurt you.”

“Oh, _Angel_ ,” Crowley rubbed his thumbs along Aziraphale’s cheeks gently as he listened. “You don’t have to _do_ that.”

“I know. But I _wanted_ to,” Aziraphale whispered.

“You _know_ I don’t want that, Aziraphale,” Crowley said tenderly, stroking fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “I don’t want anything to happen to _you_ , either.”

“Seeing him today, I…” Aziraphale _finally_ found his words, or at least _some_ of them. “I’ve spent over a quarter of a century blaming myself for what happened to Raphael.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Aziraphale. You didn’t cause _any_ of that, no matter what you’ve tried to convince yourself otherwise. Both Raphael and I know that, and _you_ need to know that, too.”

Aziraphale looked haunted as he lifted his eyes to meet Crowley’s own. “He took _my_ beating, Crowley.”

Crowley shook his head. “He didn’t! That’s not wha—”

“He protected me.”

Crowley’s eyes widened slightly. “That was his _choice_ , Aziraphale. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do—”

“I, I realize that now, I think,” Aziraphale said quickly. “That’s, that’s what I was thinking about. A-after...” Aziraphale swallowed audibly. “I don’t want _you_ to think anything about…” Aziraphale sighed in frustration. He didn’t know how to say what he meant, and it was almost physically painful the way the words were catching in his throat. “I don’t want you to feel like _I’ve_ felt all this time. I just wanted to _protect_ you.” Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it. I thought what I was doing _would_ protect you, but it only hurt you more, in a _different_ way.”

“I told you, I _already_ forgave you. But I don’t _ever_ want you doing _anything_ like that again.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, remembering each and every one of the bruises he had seen along his arm and side. “He hurt _you_ , too.”

The two sat, unmoved, still tangled within their embrace, holding on to each other for several minutes. Though everything had changed earlier that day, the weight of what seemed like an eternity was still fresh upon them. It would take some getting used to before they could _truly_ let that go.

Adrenaline is a double-edged sword. The fight-or-flight response is one of the most basic of reactions. In an emergency, it can protect us. It keeps us moving, keeps us _functioning_ , in times of stress. It is not a permanent solution. It is meant to be a temporary measure, a means of survival. It is a way to get us to some semblance of safety when danger abounds.

Eventually, when we begin to _feel_ safe and secure, whether we’re prepared for it or not, we all come down.

Crowley, having up until this point still not fully processed all of what had happened to the both of them, felt the full brunt of _everything_ he had been holding onto from the night he was left by the dumpster over two years prior, all the hurt Aziraphale must have felt to find out about it at Christmas, all the hurt he _himself_ had gone through while they were separated, to finding out about what happened while Aziraphale was on tour, being attacked _again_ , and all the way up to what he had read in Aziraphale’s book. Every moment he had submerged underneath a wink, a grin, or a sarcastic joke suddenly rose to the surface, wild and thrashing, as the sea within him boiled. He felt more vulnerable, fragile, broken-apart, bared-open, and _raw_ than he had _ever_ felt before.

Crowley looked up with tear-filled eyes, voice almost a ghost of a whisper. “Do you think he’ll leave us alone now?”

Aziraphale, sliding an arm around Crowley’s back, nodded. “I hope so,” he whispered quietly.

Crowley’s eyes darted across Aziraphale’s face, just as desperate to soothe as to _be_ soothed. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Angel.”

“No,” Aziraphale reassured him, needing to say it as much as Crowley needed to hear it. “Nor you.”

Aziraphale, standing before him, was a lighthouse in the darkness of the raging waters within. To Crowley, Aziraphale was a beacon of safety, of peace, and of _home_. Crowley laid his head on his angel’s shoulder as his own shoulders shook, racked with silent sobs.

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale said protectively, making an attempt to pull back so that he could get a better look at Crowley’s face. “This is all too much for you, isn’t—"

Crowley let out a plaintive cry as his arms quickly wound around Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders to pull him back. Crowley’s ankles locked around the angel’s legs, pulling him even closer. Crowley clung desperately as he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, still shaking, though somewhat soothed against his skin.

Aziraphale held a grounding hand on one of Crowley’s knees while rubbing reassuring circles into his back with the other. “It’s all right,” Aziraphale said gently. “You’re safe now. We _both_ are. We’re free.”

“ _Free_ ,” Crowley echoed in a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did what I could to learn about the different types of counsel conferences, hearings, and sentencing in addition to the differences between the magistrates and Crown Court. As this situation, involving three separate attacks, one of which was a premeditated second attack on Crowley while Gabe was to attend a rehabilitation program (He was high at the time), as a requirement to the deferral of his sentencing on the attack where two people died. (That mitigating circumstance was not in play during the second time he attacked Crowley.) It's all very complex and complicated and I did my best to keep any holes from poking through, though the petty bickering in the deposition to relieve Aziraphale as a witness was just something I did because it was a fun way to throw a little information in. I highly doubt that's how a deposition actually functions, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
> 
> The Art  
> There are two versions of this. Before I set up the office background with Gabe's desk, I threw a gradient background on it while I was working. I _really_ like the simplicity of that, so I'm including it as a second version.  
> 


	41. Here Begins A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Is Written In The Black Book with Red Edged Pages?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:  
> [Corinne Bailey Rae – Put Your Records On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjOhZZyn30k)  
> [Steam Powered Giraffe – Starlight Star-shine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neweVrb72SE)
> 
> Chapter title, along with the rest of the quote on the sticky note, is from [ La Vita Nuova](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Vita_Nuova), by Dante.

Crowley, recently out of his walking boot and walking on his own, was making an attempt to prepare setlists. He had already been back to work in the Inferno playing the piano, as he could sit for that, and didn’t need to carry any equipment while navigating with his cane. It was a bit to get used to tapping the pedals in the boot, but it didn't _hurt_ , so he managed. But now that he was otherwise unencumbered, it was time to get back to the guitar.

“That won’t work,” he said, tossing a page to the side. “Ugh, that’s _dire_ ,” he said, making a disgusted face at the offending page. “Well, that’s just depressing. I can’t play that.”

He was sorting through the rest of his sheet music for guitar when a thought struck him. He had not gotten any new sheet music since some point in July, back when Aziraphale was out of the country and his own mindset was not _ideal_. It was late October now.

“This is all _entirely_ too gloomy. I need something else.” He blew a breath out through pursed lips and puffed cheeks. “Right. To the music shop!” He said, raising his fist into the air for effect. Checking his hair and face in the mirror first, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

The trip to the music shop was, largely, uneventful, which was positively _lovely_ , he thought. He had stopped off on the way there to grab a quick bite to eat and drink, choosing to sit outside and enjoy the sunshine while he ate. As he chewed, he pondered, considering the joy of so many simple things he had been denied in the past months. Crowley was tired of all the excitement and change that had been happening in his life already. “2020 has _not_ been my year,” he said, looking around with his eyebrows raised. “Though it doesn’t appear to have been anyone _else’s_ , either,” he considered with dark amusement.

He finished his meal, disposing of his waste, and looked at the time. He had enough time to go harass a few ducks in the park across the way.

And so, he did.

Of note, strange ducks do not appreciate being harassed nearly as much as the harasser enjoys harassing them. Hypothetically. Crowley quickly made his way to the car to climb inside to safety. Starting the car, he waved madly at the ducks and drove away.

This wasn’t the first time he had driven since no longer needing the boot, but it was the first time on such a nice day. Perhaps it was the combination of an azure blue sky, a crisp breeze, and the feeling of the warm sun on his skin in spite of the temperature, but Crowley felt _good_. He hadn’t felt this good, this _hopeful_ , in a _very_ long time.

Crowley turned the dial on the radio.

_Maybe sometimes we got it wrong, but it's all right  
The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same  
Ooo, don't you hesitate_

Crowley smiled. Yes, they had gotten it wrong, so very wrong, so many times, but it _was_ all right, wasn’t it?

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song  
You go ahead, let your hair down_

Crowley put the window down to let the wind blow through his hair.

_  
Sapphire and faded jeans  
I hope you get your dreams  
Just go ahead, let your hair down  
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow_

“I’m working on that,” he told the voice on the radio. “I’m doing it. _We’re_ doing it, _together_.” He drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “But it’s exciting, isn’t it?” Crowley asked the radio. “It’s all very exciting. I think so. I think it’s exciting. I’m excited about it, anyway.” He laughed at himself, trying to count back in his head how many times he had just said the words _exciting_ or _excited_. It was true, though. And while it was also true he largely didn’t _care_ who knew it, he was also glad he was _alone_ in the car for that part.

_Maybe sometimes we feel afraid, but it's all right  
The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change  
Don't you think it's strange?_

Crowley was bouncing in the seat as he navigated traffic. Things seemed to be slowing down. There was a bit of traffic congestion up ahead, it appeared. He didn’t mind, though. He was too happy to care as he pulled the car into a space between other cars on the road, all traveling at an otherwise innocuous three miles per hour.

_‘Twas more than I could take  
Pity for pity's sake  
Some nights kept me awake  
I thought that I was stronger  
When you gonna realize that you don't even have to try any longer?  
Do what you want to_

Crowley threw his head back, belting out the chorus to the amusement of the other drivers waiting for traffic to start moving again.

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song  
You go ahead, let your hair down_   
_Sapphire and faded jeans  
I hope you get your dreams  
Just go ahead, let your hair down_

Crowley relaxed, letting out a sigh of satisfaction _._

_Ooo, you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow_

They had been through so much together, Crowley realized. Neither one of them, he knew, had been their own person for quite some time. It was good, he thought, that they were working towards rebuilding themselves first, and then finding a way to make things work between them. It felt more solid like this, more stable.

“Hopefully we’ll work things out the right way, in a way that’s sustainable,” Crowley said, reaching up as if to bite his thumbnail as a flicker of doubt passed by. Realizing what he was doing, he lowered his hand back down.

Crowley knew he had to fill up the cracks and crevices between his fractures on his own. But he hoped, once he had put the work in to accomplish this, that it would be easier for him to make room for Aziraphale without falling apart.

Crowley never wanted to feel that way _ever_ again.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was finally time to open the black book. Reading the green book had been a harrowing experience. He had learned so much in such a short time, but at what cost? Things were so bad. He was horrified at what had happened to both Raphael and Aziraphale, as well as between them.

Crowley wasn’t certain what to expect with the black book, especially not after reading the green book first. Aziraphale said it was a ‘ ** _much_** _happier book, mostly_.’ But what did that _mean_?

“Let’s find out,” Crowley said aloud as traffic began to move again.

When Crowley got to his room, he placed the stack of sheet music on the table and went over to pull the book out of one of his drawers. Book in hand, he sat down on the foot of the bed.

Crowley opened it to the first page. He carefully lifted the sticky note to read it.

**_In that book which is my memory,  
On the first page of the chapter  
that is the day when I first met you,  
Appear the words,  
‘Here begins a new life.’_ **

**_Dante Alighieri  
La Vita Nuova_ **

Crowley flipped through the book, checking for any bookmarks like how the green book, the Book of Raphael, had been marked. He stopped momentarily, his eyes catching onto a few words towards the front that spurred his curiosity.

_You are so lovely when you sleep. I can’t believe I’m saying this about someone I’ve only just met. Your presence in my life has shaken everything to the foundation. My life has become so different, yet I have felt so much lighter each time I’ve been able to see you. How have I lived such a wrong life that you had never been in it before now? You were a stranger to me, and now I **dread** the day we part. _

_I will, of course, be happy for you. I know you’re eager to get back to your own life. I can’t blame you for that. You are vibrant, bold, and daring. You don’t belong trapped into this tiny space. You need room to bloom, to blossom. You should be bright and shiny, standing in the sun._

_At first, I thought perhaps it was sad that you had no name or number to complete your hospital forms. I now wonder if that was by design. You are so vivacious, so full of life and delight. Surely anyone who meets you could easily fall in love. But maybe you don’t want that. Perhaps you prefer it this way, being alone and on your own. I have some experience with that, myself._

_I thought I preferred to be alone. I had no idea how very wrong I have been all these years. I’m discovering that, the more time I spend with you here in this hospital room, the more I **want** to spend with you, to know you better, to be involved in your life and you in mine. And foolish though it may be, I wish on every star that perhaps you’d want that, too._

Crowley continued to open pages randomly through the book, reading bits and pieces here and there until landing on pages of particular interest.

_Darling Titania, I never dreamed I would someday be a husband. No, that is a lie I’ve told myself for years. I packed it away, deep within, never allowing it to surface. I told myself I did not want that which I could not have. To be fair, of course, it was very easy to keep it hidden. This desire, this dream, it was untethered, loose, and unbound to anything._

_Now I am bound to you._

_You, sweet, clever Titania, love of my life, you’ve surrounded me in your golden embrace and claimed me as your husband. That is what you meant, is it not, with your gift of a gold band? What a blessed husband I am, you brilliant, beguiling creature._

_Resplendent Titania, you are alluring enough to make the even the brightest of stars fall to earth simply to be nearer to your own dazzling light. They pale, for they bow to the fantastic glory that is you. You who has found me, nurtured me, and guided me. You, who would hide yourself away, only to shine for me._

_You are my starlight. You are my starshine._

_How does a mere mortal capture a star? I find myself wondering this each and every day. I am humbled that you would offer yourself to me, exquisite as you are, willingly bonded to me alone. You have collared me in golden wings, yet it is you who is restrained, tethered to the cord you’ve tied around me._

_I am but a wicked sinner to keep you locked away. A greedy, gluttonous, lustful sinner who would fall at your feet, yet still keep you hidden away, only allowed to shine in darkness. It is selfish of me to keep you all to myself, to keep you contained, just for me._

_I do not deserve you._

_Glorious Titania, your kindness inspires me as much as your bravery and selflessness. You **choose** to love me, knowing that life on the mortal plane is far less colorful and bright. There are such restrictions, such a high price for you to pay, to exist within the cracks, creases, and cleaves within my very soul. I fear for you, as you do not know how many times I have been folded and shifted, yanked away from possible joy so as to fear it. _

_Grateful as I am, I know not why you would ever deign to love me. You are an ethereal and occult goddess, stymied by the limits placed upon you by my own flawed form. What do you see in me? How is it that someone else has not lifted you up, exalted, and placed you back into the sky where you belong?_

_Resplendent Titania, dearest of all starlight, you shine your hope to me. You light up the darkness inside of me in ways I didn’t think were even possible anymore. You’ve offered your love, your body, mind, and soul. You’ve presented yourself, your **everything** , and asked nothing in return but limited, liminal me. _

_You continually give yourself to me, glorious Titania, and ask not even for words. But I have them. I have words for you. I have such words, an abundance of adulation and adoration in astounding amounts. I could dress it all up in a pretty package and tie it off with a smart bow, but the crux of the matter remains the same._

_I love you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_Three little words. Eight tiny letters. Even changing the order of the words doesn’t change what they mean to me._

_You I love. I you love._

_I could shorten it even further, and once again, the meaning remains._

_You love. Love you._

_Would you like more words? I’ll give them to you. I’ll give them **all** to you. I’ll collect them in this book for you. I’ll fill every page with words, all for you, from me. I’d fill a library with words for you, though the codes and keys of my shame, of hiding us away, would remain. _

_But **we** would know. That’s what you told me. **We** would know, and that would be **enough**._

_Splendacious Titania, you are the beat of my heart and the light in my eyes._

_I love you._

_I thought I had come back to life when you arrived, but that is only partly true. You see, fair Titania, starlight divine, it was only **after** you slipped your ring onto my finger, after my first breath as your husband, **that** is when truly I was lifted up, shaped, molded, and given new form. I was resurrected, blasphemy be damned, and made ineffably, irrevocably yours._

Crowley flopped back onto the bed, clutching the book tightly to his chest. He was _giddy_ , and the smile across his face was bright enough that it would rival even a lovesick teenager. A name escaped his lips in a tinkling peal of delighted laughter. “Aziraphale.” He thumbed the ring on his left hand. Though he already knew this in his heart, he was grateful for the physical validation in the book. “My Angel loves me.”

Crowley rolled over with a contented sigh and flipped a bit further into the black book with red-edged pages _._

_Starlight, starbright.  
You’re the star I crave tonight.  
I wish I may,  
I hope I might,  
Feel your touch beyond tonight._

_When I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of your skin against my own. As I lay my hand upon my cheek, I imagine you’re still there, fitted so perfectly next to me as we looked up into the sky. Though tonight I held you, I fear it may have been but a fleeting dream. My arms yearn for what was once within their futile grasp._

_Perhaps you’ll never know how I had dreamed of that moment, of holding you close to me. Resplendent Titania, my sweet Fairy Queen. Oh, but were I to be a worthy enough angel to awaken you from your flowery bed. Would you allow it?_

_Once, as a young man, I thought I knew what I wanted. I had inclinations and notions and thoughts and ideals, but nothing could prepare me for the power you hold over me. Have you any idea how enchanting you are? You are a fiery star, a beacon, a compass pointing the way home. I am the sailor, lonely at sea and searching for your shore. I am the moth, dust-winged and desperate to reach your flame._

_Watching you run from me, to escape into the darkness, was it a denial? Or was it a reminder of that which I cannot have, of all that I’ve denied myself?_

_With my fearful tongue I speak the language of hiding. I am a coward. Though my liar’s lips have never felt the tender touch of your own, they ache with the loss of the nearness of you._

_I am but a man, standing amidst a vast and seemingly infinite universe. I stare up into the sky, overwhelmed by the beauty of the stars you so adore, knowing they pale in comparison to you._

_If I were to reach for you, my glorious Titania, more magnificent than starlight, would you ever reach back for me? I’m still here, waiting for your light to return._

_You have bewitched me, though I would be remiss not to state my own enthusiastic acquiescence. I am in thrall, and were I able to do so, I would give myself over to you willingly. Until then, quietly, secretly, in whatever way you’d allow me, I am yours._

Crowley marked his place with a scrap of paper, as he fully intended to read that section again, and put the book down. “My Angel,” he whispered. He pressed his fingertips against his lips, closing his eyes to imagine the gentle pressure of Aziraphale’s kiss.

Crowley licked his lips and stood up, realizing he had read a bit longer than intended, as he wanted to work on a few songs that afternoon before he was to meet up with Aziraphale that evening for dinner. He gathered up his guitar, along with the new sheet music he had picked up that morning, and placed them on the bed.

Crowley promptly ignored them. Instead, he picked the book back up to read once more, turning to another random page.

_You, lover of the vast outstretches of the heavens above, the one who calls me an angel, do you know you’re brighter than any star or other celestial body in the sky? Even the languages of real angels couldn’t describe how my heart longs to beat to the cadence of your rhythm._

_Where are you? What have I done to displease you? I haven’t seen you for weeks. With each passing day, my heart breaks further inside of its prison of a ribcage. Don’t you know that you’re the song my caged heart sings?_

_You are the words and the music. You lift me up and remind me that I am alive, and that it’s a **good** thing, a thing that **matters**._

_I remember the first time I ever heard you sing. I think I loved you then, though perhaps I did not realize it at the time._

_I **know** now._

_How can I show you if you aren’t here?_

_Brave Titania, you who dares to dream out loud. Enchantress divine, you inhabit my very soul. I think about you more often than I should. You drive me to distraction, and I adore you for it._

_I think about your stars. Every night, I look up into the sky and think of you. When it is clear enough to see those very stars that you showed me, I think of you. When, in the dark of night, my prize is withheld by villainous clouds, I think of you. I’ve wondered, these past few weeks, if perhaps you’re looking up into the night sky along with me._

_It would be far simpler to address the times you are **not** forefront in my mind, as such a time no longer exists. You, who soothes something long broken, hidden away, frightened and fragmented within me. If you’ll indulge me my hubris, I might wonder if ever you think of me, too?_

_I would be your friend, your love, your lover, your fool. I would fall a thousand times to land gratefully at your feet. What do you need from me? I regret that I haven’t much at all to offer you. I’m so much less than I was long ago. But if it were your wish to possess me, you’d have it. Anything and everything that I am, it’s yours. I know it isn’t enough. It’s **never** enough. You deserve so much more than I could ever dream of giving you, even if I weren’t such a lonesome fool. And fool that I am, I am **your** fool, now and forever._

_I miss you with everything that I have, and all I am.  
_ _Everything that I am belongs to you, now. I am yours.  
_ _Please come back to me._

_Please._

Crowley put down the book and picked up his phone.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale said, picking up after two rings. “I was _just_ thinking about you.”

Crowley smiled, feeling fluttery in his stomach. As much as he wanted to wrap himself up in that feeling like a warm, loving blanket, he had called for a reason.

“I owe you an apology,” Crowley said quietly.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

Crowley was quiet on the phone. He hadn’t quite gotten that far in his planning when he picked up his phone to call Aziraphale. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips, Crowley gathered his thoughts. “That night, early on,” he began hesitantly. “When we swam together and talked about the stars. D’you remember?”

“I do, yes,” Aziraphale answered. He _absolutely_ remembered, thinking about it at least once a week even still. It was rather unfortunate that the memory had been tainted by Gabe and Sandy. But at its core, prior to watching as Crowley ran away, the night itself had been one Aziraphale would always cherish. No one could take that away from him, regardless of how hard they might try.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “For leaving you… L-like that. For not coming back.” He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “And for not saying anything. I just left and didn’t even _think_ about how it would feel for you. Well, I did, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but I made the decision for you that you’d be better off without me. And then I got pissed off at you for doing the same thing. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Crowley, that’s water under the bridge," Aziraphale said reassuringly. “And—"

“I had forgotten about that,” Crowley said quickly, looking over towards his plants. “When I was upset. I had forgotten that I had done it. But I _did_. I did that to you _on purpose_. I _chose_ to leave you all alone. But you didn’t give up on me,” he said, remembering the morning he woke up to a broken strawberry plant. “Not like I gave up on you. And you didn’t even _mean_ to leave me when I... When _that_ happened. You _tried_. You tried to talk to me about it, to, to let me in. And I refused to give you a chance to explain _any_ of it.”

“Intention or not,” Aziraphale said, his voice low, but firm, “You were hurt by all of that. You thought I had left without so much as a goodbye. How you felt about that, it isn’t a competition. And I had already stacked the deck by not taking your thoughts into consideration when I thought I was protecting you, too. It’s _no wonder_ you were upset. When you were gone, I was a mess, though I tried not to show it. I was _lucky_ that I found you after a few weeks, that’s the difference. You went looking for me, too, remember? But I wasn’t even in the same country at the time. That wasn’t your fault. In your position, I might have reacted the same way, or at least in a way similar enough and probably equally as self-destructive, in my own sort of way.” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “We both made so many mistakes, love. But you were _right_. We’ll get past it, if we keep trying. I just _know_ it.”

Crowley closed his eyes tightly, quietly thinking. The silence on the line made Crowley wonder if the call had disconnected. “Angel?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

Crowley sighed in relief. “I’m glad you found me.”

“So am I.”

After a moment, Crowley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I suppose I should let you go. I need… Need to work on a few songs anyway.”

The line became quiet once more, but it did not disconnect.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.

The responding voice was tiny and fragile. “Yeah?”

“Would you like to come over here to work on your music?”

“Yeah.”

After being invited in, Crowley settled into the floor in front of the couch, guitar in his lap, spreading out his music.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Aziraphale said with a start as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “I haven’t offered you anything to drink. Would you like some tea, my dear?”

Crowley tilted his head to look up at Aziraphale with a soft hint of an amused smile. Wordlessly, he nodded. Aziraphale nodded back, patting his hands against his knees quietly before standing up to step into the kitchen.

Crowley watched Aziraphale walk away, smile still plastered across his face as it grew in size, and began to play without bothering to sort through any sheet music. He already knew this one, and it felt like the right time to play it.

_Starlight, starshine, please come back into my life  
You left me all alone, can't you see that my, heart's your home  
There's a void in my soul (and it leaves me feeling cold)  
Will I ever find peace from its tolls_

Crowley leaned his head back against the couch. He closed his eyes, thinking about what he had read in the book, comparing it to what he could remember of his own thoughts way back when.

_Starlight, starshine, all of my mind couldn't unwind  
What it was, what it'll be, what future can I hope to see_

Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale walking in, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands and a dopey grin on his face.

_I am not in a dream (and there's no reason to scream)  
And this is not the end, or so it seems_

Aziraphale knew this song. Aziraphale _loved_ this song. It reminded him of Crowley for so many reasons. He had heard it once or twice when Crowley had played it before, both in performance and in the car.

Aziraphale had committed every single lyric to memory. It felt like a representation of Crowley, and that _meant_ something to him, something precious. Like anything else precious to Aziraphale, he wrote about it in his book to keep it secret and safe.

_Starlight, starshine, no longer do you shine so bright  
The sun frowns, the moon sighs, sad is the universe through my eyes_

How many times had he listened to this song, Aziraphale wondered, while they were apart? How many nights had Aziraphale spent playing this song and one other on loop, sitting in the dark, drinking wine straight from the bottle, desperately wishing upon his starlight for an answer?

_I am not just a machine (through my heart I will sing)  
I'm just a person holding onto a dream_

Tentatively, their eyes met. Aziraphale let out a small, yet wholly satisfied sigh as Crowley continued to play just for him.

_You were like starlight, just like starshine  
Casting down on me  
When the light would go down and the darkness was found  
You would shine hope to me_

Aziraphale swallowed with a breathy huff of a sentimental laugh once Crowley put the guitar down after he had finished the song. “You’ve read the book, I see,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer to hand him the mug of tea.

Crowley shrugged, looking away with a shy grin as he took the mug. “I may have _skimmed_ a few pages.”

The two of them quietly sipped their tea, taking turns casting chastely-coquettish and coy glances each other’s way, both fighting a losing battle against the smiles that continually sought to dominate their faces.

After they had finished their tea, Aziraphale nodded towards the sheet music on the floor. Aziraphale picked up the book he had been reading before Crowley arrived with a wink.

Wrinkling up his nose, Crowley reached down to select a sheet to begin. “Right,” he said, moving the rest of the pile to the side.

Several minutes and a few songs later, Aziraphale looked down at his phone.

> **Are you alone?  
>  I need to discuss  
> something with  
> you privately.**

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley sitting in the floor looking over sheet music with his guitar in his lap. He stepped into the kitchen to sit at the table.

> **I am now.**
> 
> **Something has  
>  come up.  
> I need a favor.**
> 
> **My mother warned  
>  me against making  
>  deals with the Devil.**
> 
> **Flatterer.**
> 
> **This one will be  
>  well worth it.**
> 
> **That’s a matter of  
>  perspective.**
> 
> **You’ll enjoy this.  
>  Trust me.**

Aziraphale continued to read the texts that continued to populate his screen, eyes widening slightly. Listening for music from the living room, he quietly slipped down the hall to his bedroom.

Several minutes later, he emerged with determination.

“Crowley, could I see you in the bedroom for a moment, please?”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, putting his guitar down. “You know I didn’t come over for that.”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side. “Just come into the bedroom, please.”

“Why?” Crowley eloquently reiterated.

“I just…” Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a huff. “I need you to come have a look at my computer.”

“And do _what_ with it?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale skeptically. “Are you trying to Rick-Roll me again?”

“Crowley, I swear I didn’t _mean_ to Rick-Roll you! Newt sent that to me,” Aziraphale lied, like a liar. He even had the fingers of his left hand crossed, hidden behind his right as he held them over his stomach. “I don’t even know what that _means_!” Aziraphale knew _exactly_ what he sent to Crowley, and he’d do it _again_ , too, but not today. What he was doing _today_ was too important.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he walked over to sit down in the chair where Aziraphale laid out his shirts front of the laptop, turned away from the doorway, on the dresser. “Oh, of _course_ you don’t. It means that—”

Upon seeing the screen, Crowley’s voice failed him as his jaw dropped with a gasp, eyebrows lifting above suddenly glistening, wet eyes. Struggling, he managed a half-whisper. “Pigeon?”

A concerned young voice came through the computer speakers. “Uncle Crowley? Are you okay?”

Crowley’s left hand came up to his mouth to cover his shaky laugh as he nodded, tracing the fingertips of his right hand along the face on the screen. “ _Yes_ , Warlock. I’m just so _very_ _happy_ to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are rough, yeah? Just in general. Things are nice in the story, or they're supposed to be, anyway.  
> I hope you'll forgive me for posting this a bit late. It has been a really rough year all week long, so to speak.
> 
> For those interested, I have a couple of images on my [Patreon (CynSyn)](https://www.patreon.com/CynSyn) for upcoming chapters. If you want to look, you need to use the link, as it is an 18 or older page due to the nature of some of the images. For example, the image for next Saturday's chapter is NSFW (Heads up on that, btw). I've been posting the art there ahead of time for my Patreons, and then later on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/amadness2method/) and occasionally Twitter or Tumblr (All of these are @amadness2method) after it is posted in the story. 
> 
> Just want to remind people that if anyone ever has the desire to create something based on this story, like bit of art, or a playlist of songs that remind you of them, I'd _**love**_ it if you'd share it so I could see it, too. Honestly, it would do wonders towards motivating me, just _knowing_ that someone wanted to do that. I adore so many different styles of art, and I love seeing the different interpretations of our Ineffable Idiots from a great variety of artists. I'd love to see this world through YOUR eyes.  
> Perspective is everything, after all.


	42. Things Innocuous Need Not Be Feared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memoirs, memorials, and memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Discussions of a past attack, along with a homophobic slur, towards the end of the chapter
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> [Ain’t No Grave – Johnny Cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4yc3lOoR9w)  
> [God’s Gonna Cut You Down – Johnny Cash ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Krtm_gUAadI)  
> [So Lonesome I Could Cry – Johnny Cash & Nick Cave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38bX-j5XZGY)  
> [Praying – Kesha](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hk5p3JeiiVY)
> 
> (If you don’t listen to any of the other music, at least listen to the last two on today’s list. It really _will_ add to the story.
> 
> Chapter title from this quote:  
> “One ought to be afraid of nothing other than things possessed of power to do us harm, but things innocuous need not be feared.”  
> ― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

Crowley decided he would read just a little bit here and there in the black book, as a treat. He wanted to savor it, to make it last.

“It’s not _every_ day that the love of your life presents you with a book filled to the brim with sweetly-sentimental prose all about you,” he mused aloud with a grin as he thumbed over the red-edged pages. He settled down underneath the covers, book in hand, and began to read.

_Gorgeous Titania, vixen that you are, I would taste every part of you. Would you allow me to nourish you in turn? Would you part your honeyed lips, flushed as they are by crimson temptation, so that I might slip between them? Darling Titania, consume me. Drink every drop of my essence._

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

_You are a delicate, perfumed flower, and I, your humble bee. Honored, am I, that you would allow me to caress and pierce the silken petals of your coveted rose to drive and thrive inside of you._

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he lowered the book into his lap. “That was a thing.”

He reached for his phone on the bedside table to make a call.

“Mmm, I was just thinking about you,” Aziraphale answered in a breathy growl that could be mistaken for sleepy.

“You, _sir_ , are a pervert.”

Aziraphale let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Not that I’m arguing, but what brought this on that you would call to tell me so late at night?”

“Do you know what’s in this book?” Crowley asked, his voice rising in pitch.

“Possibly? To what book are you referring?”

“The, the one you gave me to read! The black book!”

Aziraphale laughed again, this one throatier and more delighted than the last. “Well, then, _yes_. I certainly _should_ know what’s in it. I _wrote_ it.”

Crowley huffed into the phone.

“What appears to be the problem?” Aziraphale asked.

“You’re a _deviant_ , that’s what.”

“Aww,” Aziraphale tutted with a pout. “I do apologize, my dear. I know how _skittish_ and _innocent_ you are.”

“Oi!”

“Oh, don’t be offended. I rather _enjoy_ your flavor of vanilla.”

“What?” Crowley asked flatly.

Aziraphale grinned. It was _working_. “Oh, you know. _Vanilla_. Plain, but sweet. Nice and standard.”

“You mean boring.”

“Not at all! Actually, I find it quite endearing. It’s comforting, really,” Aziraphale said, sincerely meaning that. Sincerity aside, Aziraphale was, deep down, just _enough_ of a bastard. “You’re… _uncomplicated_ ,” Aziraphale added, hoping to get another rise out of Crowley. “An _ingénue_ , even.”

“You, eh, uh, y-you,” Crowley sputtered, growing higher and higher in pitch that dogs across London awoke from their slumber. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Aziraphale said with a throaty rumble, “That if I were to tell you what I was _doing_ when you called, of which I have not _entirely_ stopped thinking about during our conversation, it might _offend_ your delicate sensibilities.”

“What?” Crowley asked, confused.

Aziraphale leaned back, breathing deeply through his nose and biting his lip as he waited for Crowley to catch on.

A moment later, he did. “ _Oh_ ,” Crowley gasped. “Were you having a wank?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I _was._ And, with your permission, I’d like _very_ much to continue.”

“Right _now_?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Crowley said quietly. “Should I let you go, then?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Aziraphale purred into his ear through the phone.

There was a moment of silence on the line as Crowley considered something. "Okay, so how does that work, anyway?"

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose and grinned with delight. This was going to be _fun_. “What did you do after you returned home from our first _official_ date after we started trying again?” Aziraphale asked, assuming he knew full well what the answer already was.

“Eh,” Crowley mumbled. “Not much, really. Think I probably just went straight to bed.”

“I’m fairly certain you _did_ ,” Aziraphale’s grin was evident even through the phone. “But what _I_ want to know is what you did once you were _there_.”

“I slept?”

“Are you _asking_ me, or are you uncertain that you recall?”

“Neither.”

Aziraphale’s voice was a low, throaty rumble over the phone. “Tell me what you did, Crowley.”

With a noisy, yet wholly endearing whine, Crowley mumbled a response.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t quite catch that. Could you try again?”

“I _said_ ,” Crowley hissed quietly, “I wanked until my hand went numb.”

Aziraphale grinned. He had heard Crowley quite well the first time. He just wanted to hear it _again_.

“Tell me, my dear,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his hand around himself once again. “Where are you? What were you doing while you were reading, before you called me?”

“I, uh, I’m in bed, u-underneath the covers.”

“And how are you dressed?”

Crowley hesitated. “I shouldn’t say.”

“Oh?”

Crowley sighed. “I took one of your shirts to sleep in. I spray it with your cologne so it almost smells like you.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. “Good,” he said squeezing his hand around his cock.

“You aren’t upset about that?” Crowley asked, timidly.

“No,” Aziraphale answered. “I like that _very_ much, in fact.” He let out a steady breath, closing his eyes before speaking again. “Are you touching yourself, Starlight?”

Crowley shivered upon finally hearing the name out loud. “No. Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

Crowley’s cock, already growing hard, twitched at the sound of Aziraphale’s simple answer. “Okay,” Crowley said, reaching down between his legs.

“Do you remember where you were in the book?” Aziraphale asked, his breath on the phone just barely loud enough to make Crowley’s heart race.

Crowley bit his lip, inhaling deeply as he remembered the words. “You were being a pervert, remember?”

They both laughed. “Yes,” Aziraphale said. “If that’s the first you’ve noticed, you’ll find there are quite a few more entries in that style. But what, specifically, did it say?”

“You, um…” Crowley tilted his head back as his hand continued to stroke along his shaft. Clearing his throat, he said, “That you were a _humble bee_ wanting to _pierce my rose_.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale breathed out in response, his thumb running over the bead of precum forming on the tip of his cock. “I remember that part. Would you like for me to recite the rest for you?”

Crowley’s voice was almost inaudible. “Yeah.”

“Dazzling Titania, golden-eyed Queen drenched in honeyed desire, I would exist solely to tend to your flower. If you desired, I would place nectar upon your tongue. Though I do not deserve it, I would ask for nothing more than to live and die each day in your lap.”

“ _Fuck_ , Angel,” Crowley said, arching his back while tightening his fist. “I don’t know how you’re doing this to me. It _never_ feels like this when I touch myself all alone.”

“I feel the same way about you, my darling Titania, my Starlight,” he paused to savor the noise Crowley made right then. “Just keep going, all right? I want you to feel _good_.”

They lay together, yet miles apart, whispering words of adoration and encouragement to one another over the phone. Through vivid imagination, they chased each other’s ecstasy in their minds while finding their own with the hand in their lap, each falling asleep to the sound of the other breathing.

“Crowley!”

Crowley turned around. At least when Hal called his name from across the courtyard, his insides didn’t rattle like glass pipes full of marbles the way they did with _the voice of Dagon_.

“What’s up?”

“June wanted to know if she could come and speak to you this evening, about Lee’s memorial,” Hal explained. “She said she could drop by the lounge just before your set.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Crowley said. “Love to. That’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” Hal smiled gratefully. “I’ll let her know.”

Crowley sat at the table nearest to the piano, shoveling a vindaloo in his gob with grace and decorum, when a woman with long, braided hair approached him.

“Are you Crowley?” The woman asked, grinning slightly as she looked from the spoon in his hand to his distended cheeks and surprised eyebrows.

He nodded, putting the spoon down and grabbing his napkin to cover his mouth as he finished chewing. “Sorry,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

“That’s quite all right,” She said. “I apologize for interrupting your dinner.”

Once he finished swallowing, he wiped his mouth again. “I usually wait until after my shift to eat,” he explained, “So I don’t mess up my makeup. But I didn’t feel like putting it on to begin with today, and this smelled so good, I couldn’t wait.” He took a deep drink of water from his glass. “So, you must be June.”

She nodded. “I am, yes. I take it Hal has informed you of why I’d like to speak with you, then?”

“Yeah, he said you asked him if I would play at the memorial. I figure that makes sense that Hal might not be up to playing, all things considered.”

“Actually, that’s specifically what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve spoken with Hal, and, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like it if he could play accompaniment.”

Hal and Lee used to play a few nights a month in the lounge when they weren’t on duty as enforcers or field agents. Lee played piano and guitar, while Hal played guitar, bass, and, on rare occasion, drums. Crowley knew Hal had started playing at the lounge more since coming back from the hospital, since he was no longer out in the field at all, but he didn’t think Hal was interested in playing with anybody else as a duo again.

‘Really?” Crowley said, surprised. “And Hal’s okay with that?”

She nodded.

“Right,” Crowley sniffed, taking another big gulp of water to help soothe his burning tongue. “What did you have in mind?”

She handed him a slip of paper with a few options written on it. “These were some of Lee’s favorite songs. I’ve put stars by the ones particularly dear to him, but you can just pick out two you think you would be able to perform. Hal knows them all. He’ll be playing bass.”

Crowley took the list, looking it over. “Oh, yeah, I think most any of these should be fine. Might need to practice a little bit with a few of them to be certain, but this should work.” Crowley looked back up at her. “Was that all you needed, or did you have anything else in mind?”

June smiled warmly as she pulled out a second slip of paper. “Can you keep a secret?"

On the day of the memorial, Lee’s birthday, Aziraphale picked Crowley up from the hotel to take him to the venue. He carried Crowley’s guitar case while Crowley greeted Hal, Louis, Dana, Eric, and a woman he was unfamiliar with, though he assumed her to be Lee’s widow.

“You must be Loverboy,” June said, smiling and extending a hand towards Aziraphale. “Thank you for coming.”

Wondering why people kept calling him Loverboy, Aziraphale shot a glance to Crowley. He merely shook his head back and pinched his fingers in a shushing gesture _. I’ll tell you later_ , Crowley silently mouthed to him.

Aziraphale and Crowley started to walk to the back rows of chairs when June gently caught each of them by the wrist. “You sit with us,” she said.

“But that’s where family sits,” Crowley said with a confused look on his face.

June nodded. “Lee would have _insisted_ you sit with Hal. And since he can’t be here today, I’ll have to do it for him.” Her smile was gentle and full of grace. “Please, sit.”

They sat and listened as speaker after speaker came up to the podium to tell stories and anecdotes. The more he heard, the more Aziraphale wished he could have gotten to know the man of the hour before his passing.

“GNU Lee Gur.”

Hal looked around Crowley at Aziraphale. “What, what does that mean?”

“It’s something my father used to say,” Aziraphale explained. “ _A man is not dead while his name is still spoken_.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Sounds like a good man, your dad,” Hal remarked, eyes on the portrait of Lee on the easel next to the podium. “What was his name?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Terence Fell,” he said quietly. “But people called him Terry.”

“GNU Terry,” Hal said, eyes flicking towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled a thank you back towards him.

June approached the podium. “And in closing, if you would all be patient a few minutes while they get set up, we have a small selection of some of my husband’s favorite songs prepared. Lunch will be served shortly after.”

Hal stood up. “Right, I suppose that’s us,” he said, tapping Crowley on the shoulder.

The two walked over to the area where Crowley’s guitar and Hal’s bass awaited them. They slipped the straps over their shoulders and got into position, Crowley in front of the microphone and Hal to the side.

_There ain't no grave can hold my body down  
There ain't no grave can hold my body down  
When I hear that trumpet sound I'm gonna rise right out of the ground  
Ain't no grave can hold my body down_

Aziraphale looked around at the people seated in the chairs around him as they tapped their feet and lightly bobbed their heads in rhythm with the music. Though he did not know most of the faces, he saw a familiarity within them. He remembered what it was like at his own father’s memorial, not too terribly unlike this one. Friends, family, loved ones, all together to honor and remember the one who had passed.

_Well, look way down the river, what do you think I see?  
I see a band of angels and they're coming after me  
Ain't no grave can hold my body down  
There ain't no grave can hold my body down_

It was such a human concept, this gathering of comfort, he thought. He wondered about the people in whatever afterlife they might have found, if they took comfort in knowing the people they left behind still thought of them.

_Well, look down yonder Gabriel, put your feet on the land and see  
But Gabriel don't you blow your trumpet 'til you hear it from me  
There ain't no grave can hold my body down  
Ain't no grave can hold my body down_

Aziraphale felt a chill in his veins at the same time he noticed Crowley's voice catch ever so slightly on the lyric. Aziraphale was disappointed in himself. This wasn’t an appropriate time to be thinking of his own problems, was it?

_Well, meet me Jesus, meet me. Meet me in the middle of the air  
And if these wings don't fail me I will meet you anywhere  
Ain't no grave can hold my body down  
There ain't no grave can hold my body down_

Aziraphale tried to push the thoughts invading his mind back. He was no longer paying attention to the music. He was too distracted by his own memories.

Somehow noticing the break in the music, Aziraphale took a deep, cleansing breath. He hoped the next song would be a better distraction.

He was wrong.

_You can run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time  
Sooner or later God'll cut you down  
Sooner or later God'll cut you down_

_Oh_ , he thought. _This isn’t ideal._

Aziraphale’s mind began flashing back to things Gabe had done, said, or threatened over the years while Aziraphale attempted to hide in plain sight.

_Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news  
My head's been wet with the midnight dew  
I've been down on bended knee talkin' to the man from Galilee  
He spoke to me in the voice so sweet  
I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel's feet  
He called my name and my heart stood still  
When he said, "John go do My will!"_

Try as he might, Aziraphale could not stop thinking about Gabe. He didn’t have his therapy notebook handy, but he had recited the passages within it so many times by now that it was committed to memory. He kept repeating them over and over again in his head, hoping no one would notice that he was trying to banish invasive thoughts in the middle of a memorial.

_Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand  
Workin' in the dark against your fellow man  
But as sure as God made black and white  
What's down in the dark will be brought to the light_

He closed his eyes and attempted to steady his breath. Aziraphale didn’t want to live like this anymore. It was time he _did_ something.

_Go tell that long tongue liar  
Go and tell that midnight rider  
Tell the rambler,  
The gambler,  
The back biter  
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down  
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down_

Aziraphale knew what he had to do.

_Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down_

At the end of the song, Hal pulled his shoulder strap off and started to put his instrument away. He looked up from his case to see Crowley standing there, watching him. “What, what are you doing?”

“Don’t put that away yet,” Crowley said quietly. “We’ve still got one more to play.”

Hal looked at him with confusion. “But I don’t… What are we playing?”

Crowley smiled gently and glanced over at June, nodding. Hal let out a gasp, covering his mouth with his hand as Crowley began to play the intro. He recovered quickly, putting the strap back around his shoulder as Crowley began to sing.

_Hear that lonesome whippoorwill?  
He sounds too blue to fly.  
The midnight train is whining low:  
I'm so lonesome I could cry._

Hal closed his eyes and began to sing his part of the duet he and Lee had performed together so many times over so many years.

_I've never seen a night so long,  
When time goes crawling by.  
The moon just went behind a cloud,  
To hide its face and cry._

Crowley sang his verse, watching as Hal blew a puff of air through his pursed lips, looking up into the sky.

_Did you ever see a Robin weep,  
When leaves begin to die?  
That means he's lost his will to live.  
I'm so lonesome I could cry._

June’s eyes darted between the two of them, tears running down her cheeks, but beaming nonetheless. Hal looked from June back to Crowley, his lip trembling, as the two sang together.

_The silence of a falling star,  
Lights up a purple sky.  
And as I wonder where you are,  
I'm so lonesome I could cry._

Hal’s breath hitched as he stopped playing and covered his eyes before singing the last verse.

_  
I'm so lonesome I could cry._

“Would you excuse me a moment?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley as he packed his guitar away.

“Everything all right?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. I just need to make a phone call, and I didn't want you to worry if you looked up and I wasn't there.”

Remembering that he was on the list allowing him visitation, Aziraphale made a phone call to confirm that he would be able to make a visit that afternoon. He was given a time and told when and where to arrive.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began when came back out into the pavilion, “May I speak to you privately, please?”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded and followed Aziraphale off to a quiet spot.

“Do you think you would be able to get a lift back to the hotel with Louis or Hal after the rest of the service?”

“Y…. Yes?” Crowley replied, confused. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale assured him. “Everything’s perfectly fine. I simply need to do something this afternoon, and if I'm late, I won't be able to do it today. Please don't be offended, but I need to do it alone.”

Crowley looked at him for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. “No, no. That won’t happen. I _know_ what you’re thinking, and you aren’t going by yourself. I won’t allow it.”

“I appreciate your concern, but that’s not your decision to make.”

“Angel, no. Let me come with you.”

“You can’t,” Aziraphale explained in a nice and accurate manner. “You aren’t on the list.”

“I’ll sit in the car,” Crowley said, as if the matter were finalized. “That’s that.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded with his eyes. “You had your moment. Won’t you allow me mine?”

Crowley frowned, considering. He put his hand lovingly on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, nodding as he brought them forehead to forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He exhaled audibly through his nose, thinking momentarily before speaking. “I don't _like_ it, but I understand,” he said.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said.

  


Aziraphale entered the building with the gray walls and went straight to where he had been directed over the phone to wait. After he had shown his identification and been checked in, he was taken to another area to wait once more. He sat down in one of the booths, looking through the plexiglass window.

Aziraphale was surprised to see that Gabe actually looked _happy_ to see him as he sat down across from Aziraphale on the opposite side of the plexiglass window and picked up the telephone receiver, motioning for Aziraphale to do the same.

“Where have you _been_?” Gabe asked impatiently. “Why weren’t you at my sentencing?”

“I was instructed not to attend,” Aziraphale said calmly.

Gabe eyed him warily for a moment before speaking again. He sighed as if terribly inconvenienced. “You know I’m all about forgiveness, so I’ll let you make that up to me,” Gabe said in his best manipulative sales-voice. “I need you to get ahold of Dad’s legal team. There’s gotta be a way to appeal this.”

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly to the side as a grin tugged at the corner of his lip. “Now why would I go and do a thing like that?”

“You’ve got to help me, Az, we’re family.”

“It’s _Aziraphale_ ,” he corrected, clearing his throat. “And we’re _not_ family. You’re just the _bitch_ that tried to kill two of the men I love.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? You don’t love men. I’ve seen you with a woman.”

Aziraphale snorted, tilting his head down to peer back up at Gabe with a look of amusement. “No, you haven’t.”

“I did. I saw lipstick all over your neck and chest when I came by your place a while back. Uh, what’s her name, Titania, I think.”

Aziraphale’s head lifted as he grinned wickedly. “That was _Crowley’s_ lipstick. _He_ was in my bed when you knocked on my door.”

“What?”

Aziraphale slapped his open palm down on the counter in front of him. “Crowley _is_ Titania.”

“The queer with the demon eyes?” Gabe looked disgusted. “You were fucking _him_?”

“My _husband_ has bilateral coloboma,” Aziraphale corrected.

“You’re lying,” Gabe said incredulously. “I don’t believe this. How can you _live_ with yourself?”

“ _Freely_ , which is more than I can say for you or Sandy,” Aziraphale said, fighting back a smirk. “I suppose that’s to be expected, what with your violently close-minded hobby. You two do _everything_ together, don’t you? Pity he couldn’t join you here.” Aziraphale batted his eyes innocently. “He’s a bit caught up at another prison, I hear. Why, I don’t imagine the two of you will _ever_ see one another again. What did they say he was convicted for?” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, looking around and tapping his chin before turning eyes of frozen fire back towards Gabe. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Two counts of manslaughter, and now the additional charges of the previous attack on Crowley.”

Gabe said nothing, sucking his teeth in a sneer.

“But Crowley wasn’t your _first_ ,” Aziraphale continued. “Was he? That night when Sandy left him behind the dumpster. No, I don’t believe it was. You both seemed awfully _comfortable_ with that. Do you think that might have been because the two of you had done it before, to at least two other people?”

“That’s not true,” Gabe laughed nervously. “You can’t prove that.”

Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “I don’t _have_ to. You’re _already_ serving more time than you’ve got left.” Aziraphale huffed a resigned sigh, looking Gabe up and down. “And that’s going to have to be enough for what you did to Raphael, I suppose.”

“I don’t know anybody named Raphael.”

“No, you never _did_ bother to ask his name,” Aziraphale replied, anger sparking an ignition of flame deep within. “I suppose that wasn’t at the front of your mind when you tried to kill him,” Aziraphale glared at Gabe through the plexiglass barrier, voice suddenly low and threatening. “And me.”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale! You know I didn’t mean it all those times you pushed my buttons. You _knew_ better than to make me mad, but I can forgive you for that.”

Aziraphale winced. “That’s… That’s something else I’m going to need to work through,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head with his eyes closed. “But I’m not talking about _that_.” The growing embers surrounding his heart glowed hot. “I’m referring to when you tried to _kill_ me.”

“What are you talking about? I _never_ tried to kill you.”

The growing fire in Aziraphale’s chest began to melt the ice in his veins that had held him frozen for so long, emboldening him after decades of silence. “Halloween night, twenty-seven years ago. You two were _incredibly_ drunk, so let me refresh your memory. You might not recognize me, because I had on an eye mask, and my hair wasn’t always this color.”

“I’ve seen pictures of you, Aziraphale, I—”

Aziraphale cut him off. “You’ve seen what I’ve _allowed_ you to see,” he snarled, quickly composing himself once more. “My hair was more the color of Michael’s back then. It turned this color shortly after that night.”

Gabe tilted his head condescendingly.

“It’s apparent you still don’t remember,” Aziraphale said calmly. “Perhaps you need a bit more.” He locked eyes with Gabe through the plexiglass window. “You had a bat, and threw your bottle up in the air to knock it towards us when I kissed Raphael behind the pub. Got me with a chunk of glass right here,” Aziraphale tapped behind his ear.

Gabriel’s eyes flickered with growing recollection and horror.

“And when you got close enough to swing your bat directly at _me_ , he flipped us around to wrap _himself_ around me. He used his own body as a shield to protect me from _you_. Do you remember splitting his head open, Gabriel? Because I _never_ could forget it. I never forgot what you did to him _after_ , either.”

Gabe, eyes locked nervously on Aziraphale, continued to listen.

“I remember the sound of your laugh when Sandy managed to punch me in the stomach before he knocked us both down.” Gabe’s face grew pale as the pieces clicked into place, forming the complete picture of the past. “Raphael crawled on top of me, _still_ trying to protect me from _you_. He and I were face to face on the ground when you _beat him with your bat_. Do you _remember_ that, Gabriel? Is it _coming back to you yet_?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment to take a deep breath and unclench his jaw. “The look in Raphael’s eyes when you broke his hip is something I will remember for the rest of my days. And judging by the expression on _your_ face,” Aziraphale tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “I think _you’re_ remembering it now, too.”

“Aziraphale, I—”

“Shut your _stupid mouth_ while I am talking to you,” Aziraphale hissed as Gabe’s eyes widened further in shock. “It took me _years_ to be able to cope with that.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath to gather himself. “You stole my life, my _identity_.”

Gabe opened his mouth as if to speak, but Aziraphale glared him into silence and continued. “You said we were born _sick_ , and sickness like ours couldn’t be healed, only destroyed. Do you _remember_ trying to set me on fire? It’s possible I’m only here today because you were entirely too drunk to work a lighter properly,” Aziraphale growled. “And you tried have Crowley drown—” Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath again to keep himself calm. “You _know_ what you did to Crowley. You _bragged_ about the first time at Christmas, and then you ended up _here_ when you tried to kill him _again_.”

Aziraphale pulled the receiver from his ear and made as if to hang it up, watching Gabe do the same. Aziraphale changed his mind at the last moment. He motioned for Gabe to put his receiver back up to his ear.

“Almost forgot to tell you. You remember your beloved desk, don’t you?”

“What have you done?”

“I sold your desk. I took the money from that, added some of my own, and _donated_ it, in _your_ name, to LGBT Foundation.”

Gabe glared at him through the plexiglass.

“But that’s not even the _best_ part,” Aziraphale said as a wicked grin crept over his face. “Before I sold it, I _fucked my husband_ on top of it.”

Gabe’s face was a satisfying blend of ill-green and rage-induced-aubergine.

“Rot in Hell, Gabriel.”

Aziraphale slammed the receiver against the wall and walked away without looking back.

Aziraphale climbed into his car with a sigh, turning the key. Electrical system engaged and engine turning, the radio began to play as the car started.

_Well, you almost had me fooled  
Told me that I was nothing without you  
Oh, but after everything you've done  
I can thank you for how strong I have become_

“He’s really gone now,” Aziraphale said out loud, putting distance between himself and the prison. “They _both_ are.”

_'Cause you brought the flames and you put me through Hell  
I had to learn how to fight for myself  
And we both know all the truth I could tell  
I'll just say this is "I wish you farewell"_

Gabe, still holding the receiver in his hand, sat staring out through the plexiglass window even after Aziraphale had left. His face grew dark and weary as he waited to be escorted from the visiting area back to his cell.

At the same time, Aziraphale’s diaphragm contracted almost violently as he struggled to keep himself from laughing. It was a strange reaction, he thought. The situation wasn’t _funny_ , not at all.

Why was his body fighting so hard to laugh?

_I'm proud of who I am  
No more monsters, I can breathe again  
And you said that I was done  
Well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come_

It was relief. His body was desperate to release _everything_ to make room for _relief._ Once he allowed himself to let go, the last remnants of the ice that had frozen him in place all this time melted away, washing over him in a rushing flood.

_  
'Cause I can make it on my own, oh  
And I don't need you, I found a strength I've never known  
I'll bring thunder, I'll bring rain, oh  
When I'm finished, they won't even know your name_

The peal of laughter that finally bubbled up from deep within Aziraphale was a tonic. It was a balm more satisfying, more _soothing_ , than he had ever dreamed possible.

_I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'  
I hope your soul is changin', changin'  
I hope you find your peace  
Falling on your knees, prayin'_

Aziraphale gasped. His eyes glistened with the holiest of tears while the last of the laughter fell from his lips. It was as if Aziraphale could _feel_ the broken pieces of his soul knitting back together to heal. Baptized by joy, he sighed, feeling cleansed and reborn.

_Ah sometimes, I pray for you at night, oh  
Someday, maybe you'll see the light_

Gabe was led back to his cell, flanked by guards. The door locked behind him, leaving him all alone in the small room where he would, for all intents and purposes, very likely spend the rest of his natural life.

_  
Whoa oh oh oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give  
But some things only God can forgive_

Gabe sat heavily down on the edge of the bed in the dark corner of his cell, elbows on his knees, and lowered his face into his hands.

_Yeah! (I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin')  
I hope your soul is changin', changin'_

Aziraphale got out of the car. Smiling, he took a deep breath and lifted his face into the sunlight.

_I hope you find your peace  
Falling on your knees, prayin'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the journey to get here.
> 
> But it isn't over. There's much more joy in store before we get to the end.


	43. Mankind Is At Its Best When It Is Most Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's business, It's business time_  
>  (That's why they're called business socks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: *Slaps roof of chapter* This chapter can hold SO MUCH FLIRTY SMUT. **There is also a slightly NSFW image towards the bottom of the chapter.** Just a heads up on that. That's all the CW is about, so you don't accidentally open this around kids or your boss or something (I know most of us are sheltering in place, but there are those of us who are still needed at work, too, and I wanted to be courteous.)
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> [That Man - Caro Emerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFA6dEwWOb4)  
> [Candyman – Christina Aguilera ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ScjucUV8v0)
> 
> Chapter title from this quote:  
>  _Mankind is at its best when it is most free. This will be clear if we grasp the principle of liberty. We must recall that the basic principle is freedom of choice, which saying many have on their lips but few in their minds._  
>  _\- Dante Alighieri_

It was Crowley’s turn to take Aziraphale out. He picked him up from his flat and they made their way to Crowley’s favorite Lebanese place in Hammersmith, as Aziraphale particularly liked their baklava, and Crowley particularly liked when Aziraphale particularly liked his dessert. The fact that it was Crowley’s favorite kebab place was merely an added bonus.

Once they arrived, Crowley found a parking spot and prepared to go inside. Aziraphale flinched when Crowley reached across him to open his door, brushing Aziraphale’s left arm. “Sorry, it’s still a bit sensitive.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Crowley asked with concern, drawing back without opening the door.

“I, um, I may have done something, that day I went to see Gabe. I wanted to wait until it was fully healed before I told you about it.”

Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. “What are you talking about, _healed_? Did he hurt you? I need to see your arms, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows jumped up as his hands rose defensively. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s perfectly fine. It’s something I had _wanted_ to do for a couple of years now, but never had the courage. I was always too scared of not being able to explain why it mattered to me if someone noticed it.” He cast his eyes downward. “I was already keeping so much else I loved hidden. I couldn’t bear to lie about this, too.”

Crowley’s brow was still furrowed, but less severely. He pouted slightly. “What are you saying?”

Aziraphale unbuttoned his cuff and carefully pulled his sleeve up past his elbow.

Crowley’s eyes went wide as he looked from Aziraphale’s face to the inside of his forearm. “That was the first… That’s…”

“Andromeda, yes,” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley traced a fingertip along Aziraphale’s skin just below the freshly-tattooed stars lined on Aziraphale’s arm. “And what does this mean to you?” Crowley whispered.

“It’s a lovely story, actually,” Aziraphale smiled with delight. “You see, the first time I ever wrapped my arms around the love of my life, he showed me these stars. And now, that’s where I’ll keep my Starlight, right here, in my arms.” Aziraphale reached up to brush away the tear that found its way onto Crowley’s cheek. “And if ever we’re apart and I’m feeling lonely, I just reach over like this,” Aziraphale said, putting his left hand on his right shoulder, “And my Starlight Is held next to my heart once more.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say. He sat there, dumbfounded, unable to make even a single sound.

“It isn’t finished. I have to go back to get the rest done. They didn’t have a lot of time that day. At first, they were only going to do a consultation, but after we began discussing what I wanted, and why, the gentleman went to work on giving me at least this much for now. I was surprised to have been able to get _anything_ done that evening, but there had been a cancellation, and this was relatively simple linework, all things considered.”

Finding his voice, Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. “What’s the rest?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see. Might take at least two more visits, though. Not quite as large as a quarter sleeve, of course, and only on this side, but it should run from here,” Aziraphale pointed to the center of his inner forearm, “To here,” he said, indicated where the inside of his elbow began.

 _Well then_ , Crowley thought, suddenly overcome by need. He glanced quickly down between his own legs. _Looks like sex is back on the menu, boys. We might need to forget about dinner. Well_ , _maybe we could at least grab a takeaway on the way to Aziraphale’s flat,_ he thought. Crowley leaned in, curling his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair to bring him close enough to slot their lips together.

Crowley’s text notification chimed three times in a row.

Aziraphale pulled back from the kiss just enough to ask, “Do you need to check that?”

Crowley whined and grumbled, “Eh, y-yeah, I suppose.” He looked down to read as more texts came in. “Hal!” He growled.

“Is something wrong?”

“Eh, uh, no, not really. Just poor timing,” Crowley sighed. “One of June’s kids is in a play. They thought it was going to be next week and he asked for that night off, but it’s _tonight_ , in an hour. He needs someone to cover his shift in the lounge so he can go. It’s only for a couple of hours. Wants to know if I could do it.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. “What do _you_ think?”

“Do you want me to be honest,” Aziraphale asked, “Or do you want me to be an excuse _not_ to go?”

“Oh, no, I want you to be honest. If I didn’t have prior plans with you, I’d have said yes already,” Crowley explained, silently both blessing and cursing the distraction from their previous activities. “He covered a lot for me recently. But I wanted to check with you first because you’re my priority here.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “Tell him you’ll be there.”

Crowley nodded, looking back down at his phone to reply to Hal’s request. “I appreciate that. And it’s only for a couple of hours. I could drop you off and then maybe after—”

“Or perhaps I could come with you?”

“You want to do that?”

“Like you said, it’s only a couple of hours. And I do enjoy hearing you play. It’s been awhile. Plus, this way, we still have time for me to run inside and grab a takeaway for us before we leave here. I’ve been quite looking forward to more of their baklava,” Aziraphale said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I do know how much you love the chicken kebab they make for you.”

 _You ridiculous angel. I love you so_. “Oh,” Crowley said, blushing slightly. “That’s all right, then.”

“You stay put. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Aziraphale said, lowering his sleeve to rebutton the cuff and step out of the car.

Just over a quarter hour later, Aziraphale came back out, grinning as he re-entered the car. “They asked me if this was for you,” he said, laughing. “It would seem you have a bit of a reputation.”

“I suppose I—”

“When it comes to chicken,” Aziraphale added with a wiggle and a smirk.

Crowley rolled his eyes and started the car.

Upon entering the lounge, Crowley took the bag of takeaway from Aziraphale. “I’m going to have to get on the piano, so I won’t be able to eat until I go on break in an hour, but did you want to go ahead and eat yours now?”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting for you,” Aziraphale said.

“Right,” Crowley said. “I’ll just take these to the kitchen to put them where they’ll stay warm before I get up there,” he said, nodding towards the piano. “You just sit wherever you like.”

Aziraphale found the table closest to the piano where he knew he would be able to comfortably see Crowley’s face.

A few songs and almost an hour later, Aziraphale was just as mesmerized as he had been at the start. He sat, mooney-eyed, listening with pleasure even when he didn’t know the song.

_I'm in a little bit of trouble  
And I'm in real deep  
From the beginning to the end  
He was no more than a friend to me_

Crowley was especially animated and happy tonight, and Aziraphale found it absolutely _delightful._

_The thought is makin' me hazy  
I think I better sit down  
Cause like the sweetest serenade  
Bet he knows he's got it made with me_

“I _do_ know,” Aziraphale whispered.

_Twisting round on a carousel  
This speed’s too much to stop  
One second I'm thinkin' I'm feeling the lust  
And then I feel a lot_

“Excuse me,” a person said as they stepped in the way of Aziraphale’s view of Crowley. “But I usually sit there.”

“Oh, terribly sorry,” Aziraphale replied. “But it would appear, as there are no reserved seats here and I’m already seated, _I_ have the table.”

_Now it's like I'm on a mission  
Headed everywhere  
And if it takes a little long  
And it feels a little wrong, who cares?_

To Aziraphale’s surprise, the person sat down in the chair diagonally across from him. “If you won’t move, I suppose I’ll be sitting _with_ you, then, shall I?”

_My baby fits the description  
And does it easily  
A little Gable, some Astaire  
When he dances I can hardly breathe_

Aziraphale shrugged and continued to watch Crowley with a dopey grin.

_Someone call a doctor  
Need some help to rescue me  
One second I'm thinkin' I must be lost  
And he keeps on findin' me_

“You might as well give up,” The person explained. “He keeps saying he isn’t looking for anything because he’s already got an angel.”

“Really?” Aziraphale beamed.

“Slow down, mate. I’ve already staked a claim here,” The stranger warned. “I’ve been trying to crack that shell for over a month now. But if _anyone_ can do it, it’s me.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale covered the amused smirk on his face with his glass as he sipped his drink.

_Ooh that man is like a flame  
And ooh that man plays me like a game  
My only sin is I can't win  
Ooh I wanna love that man  
Ooh that man is on my list  
And ooh that man I wanna kiss  
My only sin is I can't win_

Crowley turned to wink at Aziraphale.

_Ooh I wanna love that man_

The stranger’s eyebrows creased. “Don’t get any ideas,” they said, watching as Crowley got up from the piano to walk over to the bar.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He knew he didn’t _need_ to say anything.

“Leave my Angel alone, Roxy,” Crowley said, walking over to the table carrying a tray with their takeaways on it and two glasses of water filled with cherries. “You’re in my seat,” he said, placing the tray on the table.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly up at Crowley, tilting his head towards Roxy as his smile changed into a smirk, batting his eyes.

Roxy sighed in disgust and stood up to slink out through the door.

Crowley made a noise of relief, looking towards the ceiling. “I am _so_ glad you were here tonight. Roxy would _not_ take no for an answer. Didn’t care that I said I was taken, nor did they care that I was wearing a ring. They’ve been practically _hounding_ me for the last month. I’ve had to leave through the kitchen just to keep them from following me to my room.”

“You shouldn’t have to _do_ all that.”

“I know. If it kept up much longer, I was going to mention it to Louis. I might have said something before, but I know he’d put Hal on it. I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now, for a _lot_ of reasons.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “I don’t suppose it would be.

“Enough about that,” Crowley said, pulling the cardboard circle out of his aluminum tray. “I’ve got the next twenty minutes. I’m about to set a land-speed record on this kebab so I can spend a little more quality time with you before I have to get back on the piano.” He took a large, noisy bite. “Oh, I’m starting to sound like you,” Crowley mumbled, sliding the fork from his lips.

As they continued to eat and talk, Aziraphale couldn’t help but be distracted by the slip of a thin black strap poking out at Crowley’s shoulder. He began to imagine what it would be like to unbutton that shirt, opening it to slide the strap down, lowering his mouth to run his tongue along to taste the chest revealed beneath it. He could practically feel the pebbling of delicate skin as his lips closed around—

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Crowley’s voice snapped Aziraphale out of his daydream with a guilty yelp. “What?”

Crowley barked out a laugh at the realization of what had just happened. “I mean it’s _difficult_ , isn’t it? I can see you over there, thinking your thinky thoughts.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale said, flustered and blushing as his fingers moved towards the cherry stem in his drink.

“Did you know,” Crowley asked, reaching over to grasp Aziraphale’s wrist as he plucked the cherry from his glass, “That I can do really weird things with my tongue?” He brought Aziraphale’s hand up to hold the cherry by the stem in front of his lips. Crowley flicked out his tongue to guide the cherry between his teeth, grinning as he bit down just enough to hold it while Aziraphale pulled the stem out. Crowley chewed, eyes roaming across Aziraphale’s face with amusement at the way his angel was enraptured. He licked his lips, swallowed, and opened his mouth in invitation for Aziraphale to deposit the stem upon his tongue.

A look of concentration passed across Crowley’s face, so intense that it made Aziraphale laugh quietly as he observed the scene before him.

“Hush,” Crowley somehow mumbled as he manipulated the stem. “You aren’t the only one with a trick up his sleeve.”

“Or upon his tongue, as it would seem,” Aziraphale sighed dreamily, resting his chin on his knuckles to enjoy the show.

A moment or two later, Crowley waggled his eyebrows and parted his lips, extending his tongue out to display the stem, having been knotted twice.

“My dear,” Aziraphale’s head tilted to the side as he marveled at the mastery of craftmanship upon his talented Titania’s tongue, “Are you _trying_ to get me to throw you down on top of one of these tables?”

Crowley grinned, plucking the knotted stem from his tongue to speak. “Oh, you wouldn’t do that. There are people here, some even _know_ us. What would _they_ think?”

Aziraphale hummed a breath through his nose, looking Crowley up and down. “I no longer _care_ what anyone else thinks of me,” he said, lifting Crowley’s hand to press a gentle kiss to his wrist. “Except for _you,_ Starlight.”

Crowley’s tongue flashed as it passed across his lips before his teeth pressed against his bottom lip. He stood up, delicately pressing fingers to Aziraphale’s chin to tilt the angel’s face up. Crowley leaned down, meeting Aziraphale’s lips in a tender kiss.

“Break’s over,” Crowley said with a wink before sauntering back towards the piano. He lifted his arms up above his head, linking his fingers together to stretch, arching his back as he did so, lifting the hem of his shirt to expose a strip of his stomach.

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “Do we feel better now?”

“Almost,” Crowley said, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back to expose his neck. An audible pop was heard. “Ahhh,” he groaned with satisfaction. “Not many things as fulfilling as a nice back cracking.” Crowley fought the grin trying to spread across his face at the way the tips of Aziraphale’s ears pinked up at that, and sat down at the piano to play.

_I met him out for dinner on a Friday night  
He really got me working up an appetite  
He had tattoos up and down his arm  
There's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm  
He's a one stop shop, makes the panties drop  
He's a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man  
A sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man_

Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, waggling his eyebrows.

Aziraphale’s head went back as he laughed in delight. Oh, how he loved that ridiculous creature before him. His life was so much happier now, possibly more than it had ever been before, even when he was younger. Crowley was so _vibrant_ and full of life. Aziraphale could hardly believe his own luck.

_He's a one stop shop, makes my cherry pop  
He's a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man (oh)  
A sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man_

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale as he played, winking and biting his lip before getting into the next verse.

_Well, by now I'm getting all bothered and hot  
When he kissed my mouth, he really hit the spot  
He had lips like sugar cane, oh  
Good things come for boys who wait_

Crowley was having entirely too much fun to be at work, he thought. All of this flirting, the innuendos, all of it. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Even before, he and Aziraphale had never had this, whatever this was.

They had lived in secret for so long. Crowley had not even realized what he had been missing all that time. Aziraphale was so much freer and more relaxed now. He had been getting better over the last few months, but there had been a remarkable difference since the day of the memorial almost two weeks prior.

Crowley would do nearly _anything_ to keep that lightness in Aziraphale’s heart. It made his own heart glad.

Crowley and Aziraphale locked eyes together as Crowley finished the song.

_He got those lips like sugar cane  
Good things come for boys who wait  
He's a one stop shop with a real big (uh)  
He's a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man  
(Say what) a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man  
(Say) a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man, woo  
A sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man_

A few more songs, and several longingly flirtatious looks between one another later, Crowley’s shift ended. Crowley grabbed the bag with the box of baklava from the kitchen and led Aziraphale out of the lounge by the hand.

“Don’t you have to stay and help clean up?”

“Nah,” Crowley said. “Hal texted me to let me know he was on his way. Once he found out you were with me, he told me not to worry, that he’d handle the closing and cleanup as a thank you.” Crowley fished the keys from his pocket. “Time to take you home, Angel.” Aziraphale pouted. Crowley handed him the bag. “You can have a nibble on the way.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he smiled and took the bag regardless.

As he drove, Crowley’s mind began to wander back towards what he was thinking about earlier in the evening. He honestly could not remember ever having this much fun before. They never had this the first time around. Everything was in secret, coded. The one time they had done anything even remotely like this was watching Shakespeare in the park, when Aziraphale hand-fed Crowley, but even that had been an accident that happened when neither of them had been thinking.

Things were different now, and he could feel it. They were standing out in both the light of day and dark of night, together, hand in hand. There was nothing left to hide, and it was so much more liberating than Crowley had ever imagined it could be. While he himself had not ever hidden, he hadn’t had the experience of a partner who wanted him and wanted to be with him, to spend time with him, to love him _so fully_ as to embed a representation of that bond into his own angelic skin, right where anybody could see it.

Maybe that was worth waiting for. Maybe—

Aziraphale let out a low moan. “Oh, this is delightful, Crowley. They make the best baklava,” Aziraphale said, licking his fingers.

 _Oh, that’s… That’s dirty, Angel,_ Crowley thought. _That’s a low blow._

Aziraphale moaned again as he took another bite. And another, each bite accompanied with its own little sound that ran straight down Crowley’s spine.

A wicked grin appeared on Crowley’s face. _Two can play this game,_ he thought.  
“Angel,” Crowley began, “Could I have a bite? Just a small, tiny piece to taste it. Maybe half of one.”

“Of course, my dear. It’s quite scrumptious,” Aziraphale said, picking up a square and biting it in half, offering the bitten off piece to Crowley.

“Would you mind feeding it to me?” Crowley asked. “I don’t want to get my hands sticky while I’m driving."

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Aziraphale said, lifting the square between his fingers up to Crowley’s open mouth, placing it inside.

Crowley closed his lips around Aziraphale’s finger and thumb, lightly holding them in place with his teeth as his tongue caressed the soft skin between them and the pads of the angel’s fingertips. “Mmm,” he hummed in enjoyment, leaning forward just a bit to allow Aziraphale’s fingers to enter a little bit deeper into his mouth.

Crowley worked his tongue along Aziraphale’s finger and thumb, flicking his tongue against the skin between them. Crowley pulled back off of his fingers, increasing suction until the fingers slid out with a pop.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. “Would you like another?”

Crowley grinned as he pulled up to the building and parked the car, shutting off the engine.

“I’d like very much to kiss you,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I’d like that very much, too,” Crowley said, leaning towards him, parting his lips just in time to catch Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his own. They leaned into one another, mouths seemingly starved for a taste of skin while hands grasped desperate along curves and edges.

“Could I…” Aziraphale’s voice was low with want. “Could I invite you up?”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the p.

“You’re such a _tease_ ,” Aziraphale said, nuzzling against Crowley’s neck. “What about—”

“And you can’t come back to mine, either,” Crowley bit his lip in a grin as Aziraphale lightly nipped at the strap that kept slipping down his shoulder. “But maybe I’ll call you when I get to the hotel to let you know I got there safely.”

“Promise?” Aziraphale asked, sinking his teeth delicately on Crowley’s exposed neck.

“Ye-,” Crowley cleared his throat, closing his eyes as Aziraphale’s lips moved, lightly grazing against Crowley’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed. “Yeah,” he managed to whisper with a whimper.

“Seems a bit silly, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s skin. “You’re _already_ here, Starlight.”

Crowley was suddenly straddling Aziraphale’s lap. He gripped Aziraphale’s face between his hands as he pressed hard against him, slotting their lips together. “Show me your tattoo,” Crowley gasped out, reaching to unbutton Aziraphale’s cuff. With Aziraphale’s help, they pulled the sleeve up together, exposing the stars to the moonlight.

Crowley wanted to run his tongue along that patch of skin, but he remembered it was sensitive right now. Instead, he leaned back in Aziraphale’s lap, lifting his arm up to view while Aziraphale’s mouth went straight for Crowley’s exposed throat.

After a few minutes of Olympic-level groping, a few strategic grindings of hip, and several deeply low humming breaths through their noses, Crowley scooted back into his own seat. “Get out of my car,” he said, licking his lips. “Get upstairs. I will _call_ you when I get to the hotel. Get your phone charger from your desk and get into bed.”

“My phone charger?” Aziraphale asked with mild confusion. “What do you want me to—"

“I _know_ you, Aziraphale. You are _notorious_ for not charging your phone. I doubt you have enough battery left for how long I intend to talk to you before you _get off_.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Clever boy.”

Crowley called Aziraphale immediately after parking his car to walk to his room.

“Are you in bed yet, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not yet,” Crowley answered. “I called you as soon as I got here. I’m not to my room yet.”

“That’s all right,” Aziraphale purred. “I don’t mind getting started like this.”

“Oh, I that so? Tell me, Angel, what were you thinking about when I was in your lap earli—”

“Crowley!” Hal Called out.

“Hal! Hi,” Crowley said, blushing and still walking towards his room.

Aziraphale, fully recognizing that Crowley was now speaking to Hal, decided to continue with his dirty descriptions regardless.

“I wanted to thank you again for covering for me tonight,” Hal said.

“Ngk,” Crowley replied to the angel with dirty wings in his ear. “Oh, yeah, no problem. Happy to help,” he said to Hal.

“I’m about to head upstairs to keep an eye on things. I’m still getting used to it up there. It’s quite noisy. I’m glad there a safe word list now. I’m still confused on a lot of those sounds up there. Never was much for that adventurous stuff myself. No judgement, of course. Just sometimes it sounds like someone’s possessed up there, speakin' in tongues. I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually. Lee did, anyway,” Hal said with a smile. “What are you up to?”

Unbeknownst to Crowley, Aziraphale had heard every word Hal said, and was already formulating a plan.

“Oh, just going to bed, I think,” Crowley said nervously. He dropped the key card trying to unlock the door while speaking to Hal and listening to the words being inserted in an aggressively loving manner into his ear via the phone held tightly against it. He had hoped that it was enough to keep anyone else from hearing the incredibly dirty, and potentially _worrisome_ , things being whispered to and _about_ him. “I, um," Crowley's voice cracked, "I’ll talk to you later, Hal,” Crowley said, finally getting his door open to go inside.

Once inside, he immediately began kicking off his shoes and stripping his clothes off. “All right, you filthy-mouthed Angel, I bet you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I don’t _think_ that, Crowley. I _know_ it.” Aziraphale laughed gently. “Are you naked yet?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, trying not to sound too eager as he stood there in nothing but his Friday socks.

“Good. Get in the bed.”

After a quarter hour of whispering sweet nothings and filthy somethings, what started as featherlight, teasing touches became something more firmly urgent.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked, voice low and rumbling.

Crowley leaned forward on his knees, phone wedged in his shoulder, one arm supporting himself on the mattress while the other hand continued to stroke. “I want you to hold me,” he whispered. “I want you to press me down and let me feel your arms around me while you’re inside me.”

Crowley _loved_ Aziraphale’s arms. They were well-muscled and strong beneath a comforting softness. If he couldn’t _feel_ them, he at least wanted to _see_ them, to watch them flex and move. He wondered how the tattoo would look, flexing along as Aziraphale stroked his cock.

Crowley had an idea.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“Where is your laptop?”

“It’s on my desk,” Aziraphale said. “Why?”

“Go get it and bring it with you into the bedroom. Once you do that, I want you to open up the VPN that Louis sent you to use for the videoconference with Warlock.” Crowley heard a noise over the line. “Can you do that for me? Angel, are you there?”

After a moment of silence, Crowley heard what sounded like fumbling on the other end of the line. “Sorry. I dropped the phone getting up to run into the living room."

“Excited, are we?” Crowley asked, amused.

“You could say that,” Aziraphale said. “I’m turning the computer on right now.”

“Me, too,” Crowley replied, throwing a blanket and pillow into the floor to sit on while putting his own laptop on the edge of the bed.

“Is this for what I _think_ it is?” Aziraphale asked.

“Eh, possibly, but that depends on what you _think_ it’s _for_ ,” Crowley grinned as he balanced the phone on one shoulder while setting up the encrypted videoconference. “Did you get the invite yet? Don’t hang up your phone, either. I want to stay on the phone so I can hear you better even if I’m not right next to the screen.”

“Don’t you have a headset?”

“I’m not wearing a blasted headset right now,” Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale’s face was suddenly smiling at him through the computer screen. “Hello, Starlight.”

Crowley’s head fell back with a rumbling growl. “ _Fuck_ , I love it when you call me that.”

“ _I know_ ,” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

Crowley laughed. “You’re such a bastard.”

“Oh, you have _no idea_.” Not yet, anyway.

“So,” Crowley said, putting the phone on speaker and positioning the laptop before leaning back onto the blanket in the floor. “Have you figured out what we’re doing yet?”

“I might have an idea, yes,” Aziraphale said, watching as Crowley got comfortable. “Could you scoot back out a little bit, or perhaps tilt the camera up some? I can’t see all of you.”

“Oh, yeah. Just let me know when to stop,” Crowley said, lifting himself up to adjust.

Aziraphale’s head tilted to the side with a smile. “You could stop right there for just a moment,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve got _quite_ the view from here.”

Crowley looked down to see that the camera was directly facing between his legs. “Pervert,” he scoffed.

“Why, I do believe that’s the idea of this venture, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

Crowley laughed and got back into the floor. “Better?”

“Much,” Aziraphale said, arching an eyebrow. “How is your view? Is it acceptable?”

“More than,” Crowley said. As far as he was concerned all views of his angel were wonderful. But in this case, he also could see all of Aziraphale, shirt open and boxers rumpled, from where the laptop was sitting on the bed. “But why are your underpants and shirt still on?” Crowley propped his feet on the edge of the bed.

“Speaking of clothing, I see you have your business socks on, then.”

“What?” Crowley said, reaching up to grab his foot and look at the bottom. “Oh, no. These are my Friday socks. You know, casual Friday.”

“ _Very_ casual, it would seem,” Aziraphale grinned. “So, this is what passes for a work uniform at the Inferno?”

“Well, maybe not in the _lounge_ ,” Crowley grinned, running his fingers through his hair as he lay down once more, legs open wide. The light from the open bathroom door filtered into the darkness of his room, the only other light being from the laptop screen.

Crowley ran his hand along his recently smoothed chest and down his stomach. He hadn’t kept up with his waxing while in the hospital, for obvious reasons, and this was the first time Aziraphale had seen him _completely_ smooth and hairless again in many months. Crowley had been keeping his legs shaved since before the sentencing, but the decision to wax again was a recent one. He usually didn’t bother with any of that in the colder months, but he _missed_ it over the summer and was making up for some of that lost time.

It was something he did for himself, because he enjoyed it. He hadn’t actually anticipated Aziraphale seeing him naked until it grew back out. Crowley hoped Aziraphale didn’t mind it, because he was going to _keep_ doing it every so often regardless. Judging from the look on Aziraphale’s face, however, Crowley felt he didn’t have too much to worry about.

“What do you want to do, Angel?” Crowley asked, lifting himself up onto his elbows. “Whatever are you going to do with me?” He asked, looking up into the webcam, lips parted.

“I want to touch you,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “I want to fuck you _right now_.”

“No,” Crowley said, leaning back in front of the monitor between his spread legs, feet propped up on either side of the laptop. “You’re going to get naked and fuck _yourself_ so I can _watch_.” Crowley slipped three fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks before pulling them out with a popping sound. He ran his tongue across the palm of his hand and reached down between his legs. He grasped his hard cock with his spit-slick hand and began to stroke slowly.

Aziraphale sat motionless and slack-jawed as he watched the spectacle unfold before him. “You’re such a tease. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? What you’re doing to me.”

Crowley’s hand started moving faster. “Hurry, Angel,” He whined, arching his back momentarily before looking directly into the lens of the webcam. “Show me your tattoo and let me watch you.”

Aziraphale pulled his boxers down, slipping out of them, and pulled his shirt the rest of the way off. He made certain when taking his cock in hand to keep his upper forearm facing the camera as well as possible.

They watched each other stroking themselves slowly on the screen while listening to each other’s breathing over the phone for a while before Aziraphale took charge of the situation the way Crowley had hoped he would. Just suggesting a naked videoconference itself was so far out of Crowley’s wheelhouse he had begun to wonder if he had been possessed.

Not that he minded.

“I want you to take your left hand and loop your first finger and your thumb around the base of your cock,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You can rest your remaining fingers along your bollocks if it suits you.”

“Like this?” Crowley moved his hand into the position.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a satisfied grin. “Now, I want you to stroke yourself with your right. But you must listen carefully for my next instructions. Can you do that for me, my Starlight?”

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley hummed with a nod and a squirm.

“Good. When I tell you, you are to let go with your right hand and squeeze firmly with your left, but not enough to hurt. Do you understand?”

Crowley bit his bottom lip and nodded.

Aziraphale watched hungrily as Crowley worked himself over, following his instructions to the letter. He was so proud of Crowley for suggesting this, and for how well he took to the directions. Aziraphale was careful to not get too distracted. He didn’t want to miss the moment he was waiting for.

“Stop!” Aziraphale said quickly. “Now squeeze.”

Crowley did as he was told, shaking as the sensations rippled through his body. “Angel, I’m so close,” Crowley whined as he writhed on the floor.

“I know you are. I could see it. That’s why I stopped you.”

“You could see it?”

“You flush the most fetching shade of red along your cheeks and nose. It travels down your body when you’re about to orgasm. One of my absolute _favorite_ things about you is watching as that red bloom snakes its way down your throat and across your chest.”

Crowley was silent other than his own heavy breathing. His knees were brought up and bent at an angle, open just enough to not block his face from the laptop webcam positioned on the bed in front of him. His hands remained exactly as he had been instructed to position them. He would be good. He would be _very_ good for his Angel.

“Don’t forget, my darling Titania,” Aziraphale said, voice thick with want, “I _know_ your body. I’ve taken you apart and put you back together so many times now that I am _intimately_ _acquainted_ with your orgasm. I know when you’re close, and I know the moment you’ve gone over the edge. I cherish watching your blushing release chase its way down across your skin. I _know_ when it’s coming, when _you’re_ coming.” Aziraphale leaned back with a smirk. “And I _know_ that as long as you haven’t yet ejaculated, you can go again and again and _again_ before the _big_ one.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathing in a satisfyingly deep breath. “So, you’re probably thinking, ‘If he can do _this_ , I wonder what _else_ he can do?” Aziraphale opened his eyes to look closer into to the camera. “And very _, very_ soon,” Aziraphale said in a low growl, “You’re going to get the chance to be _wrung out_.”

Crowley flexed his toes and clenched his jaw, eyes shut tightly as he bit back a string of expletives on the tip of his tongue. “I’m _still_ not going to let you come over tonight,” he said through gritted teeth as he squirmed on the blanket in the floor, keeping his hands firmly in place. “But put your hand back on your cock and tell me what you want me to do next.”

“What makes you think I won’t just show up at your door?” Aziraphale asked, teasingly.

“You aren’t the only one that knows things about the other, Angel,” Crowley said, lifting his head up slightly without moving his hands. “I know you better than you realize, too. If I ask you not to, you _won’t._ You won’t do _anything_ to my body that you _know_ I don’t want.”

“I suppose you’ve got me there,” Aziraphale said, scrunching up his nose happily. “But what if I wanted to come over just to spend time with you?”

Crowley, hands still in place, let out a high-pitched whine as he leaned his head back, huffing out the rest of the breath at the end. “Normally, I’d say yes, but I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

“Why ever not?” Aziraphale asked, teasingly.

“Angel! I literally have my dick and balls in my hands in front of you right now. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is _weak_. If you were to come over right now, I’d ask you to fuck me, even though I’m trying so hard to wait. I almost did it earlier, before I got called in to work. But if I changed my mind, and I probably would if you were here, I’d be in your lap before the door closed asking you to fuck me. And you’d do it, too, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale made an exaggerated pout at the screen.

“You _would_ , if you knew I meant it, you bastard.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, such a mouthy little brat, aren’t you?”

Crowley glared at the screen, biting his lip to hide his grin.

“I suppose you’d like to come now, would you?”

Crowley nodded. “Please?” He asked sweetly.

Aziraphale licked his lips and placed his own hand back on his cock. “I want you to match my movements, please. Your hands should move as mine. Can you do that?”

Crowley nodded quickly, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale as they both began to stroke in tandem.

Crowley’s hips began to buck as he dug his heels into the edge of the mattress, lifting his hips up off of the floor a few centimeters. He grabbed a handful of the blanket and brought it to his mouth, biting down to muffle the string of incoherent babbling that oscillated between profanities, endearments, and noises that could only be described as being on brand for Crowley.

“I want to _hear_ you,” Aziraphale said, appreciating the display. His voice was a rumbling growl that vibrated from the tips of Crowley’s toes all the way through to the end of his prick. “Don’t hold it back.”

Crowley lowered his hand from his mouth, “Angel, angelangelangel,” he panted out.

 _“ **Scream** for me, Starlight_.”

“Oh, **_FUCK_**!” Crowley yelled, his vision whiting out at the combination of sensory overload and stimulation.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door, startling Crowley right as the first waves of his orgasm hit. He rolled over onto his side, shaking. “I’m busy right now! Go ‘way!” He managed to choke out in between spasms. Aziraphale was visible on the screen, biting onto the heel of his free hand to hold back his laughter.

A muffled voice came through the door. “Are you all right, Crowley?” Hal asked. “You sound like you’re being _murdered_. I thought you were alone in there.”

“Everything’s going just fine,” Crowley yelled at the door as Aziraphale gave up trying to hold back his laughter. “Oh, you really _are_ a bastard,” Crowley said quietly into the phone, glaring glarefully at the screen.

After the videoconference ended, Crowley was desperate for a smoke. He cleaned himself up, threw on some clothes, and went out to the stairwell.

As soon as Dana laid eyes on him, she grinned mischievously. “So,” she said, sliding over to sit down next to Crowley on the stairs. “Hal says you were yelling like you were being murdered, and now you’re out here with your dewy complexion and rosy cheeks having a smoke. Has your vow of chastity been broken? I suppose your angel is in there waiting for you to return from your post-coital cigarette?” She nudged him teasingly.

Crowley rolled his eyes with a scoff. “No.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Sleeping it off, then?”

“Possibly. He’s at home in bed.”

“Then how did you—” Dana stopped abruptly, eyes wide in delight. “Oh, ho ho!” She laughed. “I see, I see. Did the two of you have a nice mobile wank?” She nudged him with her shoulder.

“Ngk,” Crowley scrunched up his face and leaned his head back against her shoulder to push back against her nudge. “Leave me aloooooone,” he whined, elongating the word impressively.

“You did!” Dana laughed.

“No, we did _not_. Well, okay, _maybe_ we did a _little_ at first, but—"

Dana cackled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dana. Grow up.”

“I will _not_.”

“You’re not twelve. You’re—”

“Don’t you say it.”

“Ooh, touchy, are we? Fine, one of us has to be the adult here. You’re my age.” He mockingly coughed out, “Plus a year or two.”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” Dana said, smoothing out her robe as she pulled a cigarette out of Crowley’s pack.

Crowley turned his head exaggeratedly to look at her. “Well, I certainly didn’t come out here to talk about _me_.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Dana explained, taking a few puffs while lighting her cigarette and handing the lighter back to Crowley. “What happened tonight?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but explained about the date, getting Hal’s texts in the middle of a lovely snog, and the rest of the evening. He left some things out, of course, but given the gossip mill, he figured it was best to head things off at the pass with Dana and just own it.

“How, _exactly_ , is snogging like teenagers in the car and then cyber-buggering one another in a video chat any different than just having a good old-fashioned shag?” Dana asked him.

“You know, I’m not paying you for this level of abuse,” Crowley said, taking the cigarette from her hands to take a drag. “You’re off the clock right now.”

Dana grinned at him and took the cigarette back.

“It’s _different_ , all right?” He repeated.

“It’s _not_.”

“It _is_ ,” Crowley reiterated. “You just don’t see it because you don’t know how things _were_ before.”

“I know I walked in on the two of you up against a wall a few months back.”

“You see, that, that’s my point!” Crowley exclaimed. “Any time there was a problem, it was just fuck and bugger all. It’s _different_ now.”

“How?”

“We _talk_ now.”

“Heavy breathing is _not_ talking.”

“It’s a _type_ of talking. We, we’re _communicating_ , all right?”

“That’s not what the phone is for, Crowley.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

“I am. Bit of an expert, really. A _professional_ , if you will.”

“Look, Dana,” Crowley said with a resigned sigh. “We’re having fun right now, all right? This is the stuff we’ve both missed out on because of everything that was in the way before. It’s not there now. The only thing that is standing in our way now is us, and figuring out who we are.”

Dana looked at him thoughtfully.

Crowley continued, “And it really is _talking_ , you know? Instead of just grabbing one another and grunting, we’re talking to each other, telling each other what we have to say and asking one another for what we want. This is… I think this is a big part of that. I feel more like _me_ than I’ve felt before. I need this, Dana, can you understand that?”

“What does your therapist say?” Dana asked with a tone of concern, but not accusation. “Have you talked to her about this?”

“Well, the video thing was new. I haven’t, no. That just happened tonight. But the phone thing, we’ve been doing that for a little while now. Dierdre says as long as I don’t feel like I’m losing myself in him again, she doesn’t see a problem in it. She’s the one who explained to me that it could be a good way to practice asking for what I need and listening to what he needs,” Crowley grinned.

Dana looked him over, running her hand up to brush the hair out of his face. “Are you happy, Crowley.”

He thought about it for a moment, looking off into the distance with a faint hint of a smile before turning back to face her. “Yeah,” he said with a contented sigh. “I really am.”

“Right,” she said, smiling back. “Then I’m happy, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to Noodlefrog and Caedmon for the Flight of the Conchords reference I completely forgot about while trying to make the Day Of The Week sock reference again.  
> Noodle first mentioned Business Socks while I was working on the art, and I didn’t get it, and started talking about Casual Fridays.  
> Caedmon specifically asked me if it was a reference, and I was like, “Uh…what?”  
> So, you can all thank/blame them for the Business Socks mentions.  
> I ended up adding the song to my listening/writing music. It’s catchy!  
> [Flight of the Conchords- Business Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhN93rFZuJs)


	44. Three Things Remain With Us From Paradise: Stars, Flowers, and Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my money, it was just an ordinary cock-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late! I've had a lot going on in my life (so say we all) and had to wrap my head around a few things. If you like, you can follow me on Instagram, Twitter, and/or Tumblr for updates, artwork progress (that's mostly on instagram), and other random bits of information. I'm amadness2method on all three.
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> [The Wailin' Jennys - Light Of A Clear Blue Morning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-UK7iNJgNo)  
> [Amber Leigh Irish -Dream A Little Dream Of Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3z0dLdOmbnA)  
> [Jason Wade - You Belong To Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1BYV_NWFW0)  
> [Billy Joel - Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcnd55tLCv8)
> 
> “Three things remain with us from paradise: stars, flowers and children.”  
> \-- Dante Alighieri

_It's been a long dark night  
And I've been a waiting for the morning  
It's been a long hard fight  
But I can see a brand new day a dawning  
And I've been looking for the sunshine  
Cause I ain't seen it in so long  
But everything's gonna work out just fine  
Everything's gonna be all right  
That's been all wrong  
  
_

Crowley, alone in his room, found himself singing softly as he moved the hangers around in his closet, picking out certain items and tossing them over to the bed.  
  
_Cause I can see the light of a clear blue morning  
I can see the light of a brand new day  
I can see the light of a clear blue morning  
Everything's gonna be all right  
It's gonna be okay  
_  
He glanced across the dresser top to the photo he recently framed of his mother. He brought two fingers up to his lips, then reached over to tap the picture. Crowley took a moment to smile at her before opening up the dresser drawers to remove what he needed.

  
_It's been a long long time  
Since I've known the taste of freedom  
And those clinging vines  
That had me bound, well I don't need 'em_

Satisfied with what he had thrown over to the bed, he picked up his mother’s empty toiletry case, smoothing his fingertips across the mother-of-pearl handle, and moved on to the vanity.

_  
I've been like a captured eagle  
You know, an eagle's born to fly_

He lifted up the bottle of Aziraphale’s cologne, inhaling it deeply before tucking it into the case along with the rest of his grooming tools and cosmetics.

_  
Now that I, I've won my freedom  
Like an eagle, I am eager for the sky_  
  


Crowley rummaged around in his jewelry box, bringing a tiny silver band to his lips. He wrapped it carefully in tissue paper, placed it inside of the case, and closed the lid.

  
_Cause I can see the light of a clear blue morning  
I can see the light of a brand new day  
I can see the light of a clear blue morning_

Crowley looked up into the mirror at his own reflection.

_  
Everything's gonna be all right  
It's gonna be okay_

Crowley lifted the shade to look out the window at the sun setting beneath the clouds below. He was fascinated by the orange glow contained within the soft white cottony puffs of stuff. It was almost as if everything below was ablaze, Hellish flames licking up, chasing him into the sky only to be stymied by the cloudy barrier of the floor of Heaven.

Crowley wondered if they were above ocean or land. Not that it really mattered, as the flight would take however long it took, but it was in his nature to ask questions.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley caught the way Louis tapped his foot, holding his cup ever so slightly too tightly. He turned, his eyes traveling up to see an uncharacteristically pale face set into a stony grimace.

“Something’s wrong,” Crowley said, dreading the answer without actually having asked the question.

Louis closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his seat with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You _do_.”

Louis opened his eyes, rolling his head to face Crowley. “How do you do that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Crowley said, “But whatever it is, it’s probably a blend of familiarity and blind luck.”

Louis huffed a small laugh. “Perhaps.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Crowley said, drawing his knee up and nudging Louis’s leg with his foot.

“You haven’t _asked_ one,” Louis replied, pushing Crowley’s leg back down. “This is First Class. Keep your feet out of the seat and at least _pretend_ you have the capacity to understand seating dynamics.”

“It was implied, and you know that,” Crowley said. “And also, I happen to have an _extensive_ knowledge of all things chair. If I didn’t, how could I defy the concept with such mastery?” Crowley grinned, lifting the opposite foot into the seat this time. “Besides, I took my shoes off first. Now talk.”

“I think I’d need something stronger than juice or fizzy water to have that conversation,” Louis said, looking forlornly into the empty plastic cup in his hand. “And I don’t want to drink in front of you.”

“I appreciate that, but you can, if you like, you know,” Crowley said quietly. “If you just want to have the one, I mean. I’ll be all right. I’m in a good mood anyway. I’m fine right now.”

Louis looked at him sadly. “You might _not_ be when the conversation ends,“ he said.

“Now you _definitely_ need to tell me what’s going on,” Crowley said quietly but insistently.

Louis looked around for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line. He took a deep breath through his nose, nodding slowly as he did so.

“Thad isn’t Warlock’s father.”

“ _What_?” Crowley gasped, leaning forward to pretzel further into his seat while _also_ trying not to disturb the other passengers on the plane. “But we saw the results.”

“We saw _my_ results,” Louis corrected. “Harriet saw _both_. That’s why they left so quickly.” He smiled wanly. “She panicked and ran.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, his mouth open as he tried to parse what had just been said. “She was involved with someone else? I thought she wasn’t interested in anyone but you, aside from being married to Thad.”

“Well, yes and no. There was someone _before_ me, something-or-another Johnson. Dealt in tropical fish, I think. Anyway, that time she and I were fighting, she went to stay with _him_ and they…” Louis closed his eyes, as if that would make the words easier to speak. “ _Comforted_ one another.”

Crowley hadn’t been aware of _where_ Harriet had gone at the time, but he remembered when it happened. Rather, he remembered the way Louis had reacted, oscillating wildly between angry and despondent.

It was only outshined by the shattered mess Harriet left in a designer suit when she ran off to America with Warlock.

Louis’s face was tense as he continued to speak. “Warlock isn’t Harriet’s, either.”

“What?” Crowley asked, slipping slightly in his seat. “What are you saying?”

Louis looked down before he answered. “I’m _saying_ that you and I are just as much his parents as Thad and Harriet are, _genetically_.”

“How is that possible?”

“It seems that there was a mix up at the hospital.” Louis looked up with a tragic half-smile. “I tried to find out more, but a fire destroyed the hospital records.” Louis rubbed his palms across his face, letting out a tense breath as he turned to face Crowley. “But _you_ know better than _any_ of us how little biology matters. Blood or not, he’s our family.”

Crowley’s eyes widened as he leaned back, whispering cautiously. “What are we _doing_ , Louis? We’re only _visiting_ , aren’t we?” He was all too aware of how capable and determined Louis was when he set his mind to a goal. Louis could, and _would,_ pursue any and all avenues, legal or illegal, to achieve his desired result.

“Oh, pish,” Louis said dismissively. “We’re not going to go and steal him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Yes, it’s just a visit.” Louis sighed, looking ahead.

“So, it’s… Hmm,” Crowley thought, having had a moment to process some of this. “That means you might have a kid out there somewhere.”

Louis closed his eyes with a pained expression. ”It’s possible, yes.” Louis turned slightly in his seat to lean in a bit closer, speaking quietly. “I started to try searching for official records of all children born that day in Tadfield, but there was no way to be certain he was even born that same day that Harriet gave birth. The mix up could have happened at any point while we were there, really. Who knows how many babies were there while we were?”

Louis pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes with a grimace. “More importantly, I decided Warlock’s life has already been shaken up enough. I don’t give a damn about any of the rest of it. I don’t need to know who he is _genetically_ to know he’s _my son_ ,” Louis said, reaching over to squeeze Crowley’s hand. “And I know he’s as much _yours_ , too.”

Louis let out a ragged breath. “And I know all too well how it feels to think you’re going to lose your family. I’ll not put someone else through that, not after all these years have already gone by. Wherever the other child is, I won’t be responsible for putting that fear in his heart, nor that of his parents.”

In spite of having worked for Louis for a few years at that point he and Harriet had fought over a dozen years ago, Louis and Crowley had _not_ been close, not as they were later. Louis was his employer, and he was grateful, but he was also aware of the man’s reputation. Crowley kept his head down, stayed out of trouble, played music, and went to his room. That was _it_. If something good happened, he accepted the accolades, but stayed out of the way for the rest of it.

After Harriet had come back and nine months later had Warlock, things had begun to change. Louis appreciated how responsible Crowley was, how he kept to himself and actively avoided trouble. Louis prided himself on his ability to judge character, and after a few years with Crowley in his employ, he felt confident in Crowley’s ability to extend that skillset to include caring for his son.

When Louis offered Crowley a paid position as a nanny, Crowley jumped on it. He had always liked kids, and felt that he’d not be asked to do anything untoward while taking care of the child.

He never _meant_ to fall head-over-heels for that little baby boy, but then again, that's not really a choice someone makes so much as a feeling that takes over.

“So, what does all of this mean?” Crowley asked. “How do you _know_ Harriet isn’t his mother?”

“Warlock had to have his appendix removed last year,” Louis explained. “There was blood drawn, and it was discovered that his blood type wasn’t what was they thought it was. Harriet regularly donates blood, because she has AB negative blood, and apparently, that’s rare in the states. Warlock is type O positive.”

Crowley lifted his hands helplessly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“The short answer is that after they did a few more tests, they determined someone else gave birth to Warlock. That’s really all I know.”

“How long _have_ you known?” Crowley asked.

“Not long. She told me about it when she invited us to come visit.” Louis smiled a half smile. “I knew she and Thad split up again, not long after Warlock got out of the hospital. It seems that was enough strain to put an end to an already rocky marriage. They’re officially getting divorced. They’re signing the paperwork this week.”

Crowley blinked hard at Louis, trying to form words into questions that were crashing together too quickly to sort.

“Warlock doesn’t know yet, so please don’t say anything,” Louis said.

“What are you _doing_ , Louis? Are you going back to her?”

Louis looked away. “I don’t know yet. Maybe.”

“Ugh,” Crowley said, disgusted. “You, you can’t be serious. Don’t do this to yourself,” Crowley pleaded.

“Now that Warlock is back in my life, I will do whatever I _must_ do to keep him there,” Louis explained, clenching his jaw after the words fell out.

“Including tormenting yourself again? Do you remember how bad it was when she le—”

“ _Of course_ I remember,” Louis snapped.

“That’s settled, then. It’s _not_ a reason to get back together with—"

“You don’t understand,” Louis said, hotly.

Crowley remembered the way Louis had reacted when Harriet went back to Thad shortly before taking Warlock. There hadn’t been a bottle he couldn’t pour himself into, seeking solace at the bottom. Crowley wondered what might have happened, how far Louis might have gone, had he not been there to help him through it.

Crowley had a pretty _good_ idea of how far it might have gone, actually.

“Oh, you know I _do_ understand, Louis,” Crowley growled with the gentle irritation of one desperate to protect another from their own boneheaded machinations. “You've picked me up off the floor as many times as I've picked you up.”

“You’re working things out with your angel,” Louis replied, half of him defiant while desperately seeking approval with the other half.

“That’s _different_ , and you know it. He didn’t…” Crowley sighed. “Okay, look. You’re an adult and you can make your own decisions. _Someone_ knows, I’m no expert in any of this. But I know that if the _only_ reason you’re considering trying to work things out with her is because of Warlock, I’m here to tell you that I will fight you on that. He doesn’t need or deserve to be a pawn in some fucked off powerplay.”

Louis finally met Crowley’s gaze. It was haunted in a way Crowley had not seen in years. “Let me try,” he whispered. “Let me try, and be there for me if I fail. Please?”

Crowley leaned his head back, groaning out a sigh. “Fine, you _know_ I will.”

It was going to be a long flight, and an even longer visit, to DC.

“Crowley, I’m so glad you could come along, too,” Harriet said, opening the boot so Crowley and Louis could load up their luggage. “Warlock can’t stop talking about how excited he is to see you again, after all these years.”

Crowley smiled politely at Harriet as he and Louis got into the car. This was the first time he had laid eyes on her, in person, since before she… Well, since before, anyway. He bit back a retort, reminding himself that he had the least amount of rights of any of them to be here right now. He would be on his best behavior. Broadly. “Where _is_ Warlock?” He asked instead.

“He’s with his pop today,” Harriet explained. “Thad’s going to drop him off in the morning. It’s just us tonight. We have the house to ourselves.”

Crowley tilted his head back. “Ah,” he said, curtly. _You mean it’s just the two of you,_ Crowley thought.

“Are you all right?” Harriet asked.

 _Shit_ , Crowley thought. _Dial it back a bit._ “You know, actually, I’m a bit tired from the flight. I think when we get there, I might like to have a lie down. I’m sure the two of you would like to catch up.” That was a reasonable excuse, he thought.

“We’ll make sure you get something to eat first.,” Louis said, shooting a look of thanks Crowley’s way.

 _That wasn’t for **your** benefit, but okay_, he thought with a smirk.

“Oh, I almost forgot. You’ve already gotten a delivery,” Harriet said as she maneuvered through traffic. “Someone must already miss you.”

“Ah,” Louis said, turning back to look at Crowley in the rear seat with a grin. “That would be Crowley’s Angel. That’s the key to getting this one out of a grumpy mood. All you need do is mention his angel.”

Having reached the house, Louis and Crowley unloaded their bags while Harriet prepared to give them the tour. They first were shown their rooms, putting their luggage inside, before wandering back out to look around. Crowley was carrying a wrapped, single pink long-stemmed rosebud. “Do you happen to have something I could put this in?” He asked.

“Oh, yes,” Harriet said. “I have a bud vase in the kitchen. I got it out, put it on the counter, and got distracted. I forgot to put it in your room. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right,” he said, sniffing the rose. “It’s not going to hurt anything for now,” he said, following as Harriet continued down the hall. They came to a large room lined with bookshelves, filled with an even blend of knick-knacks and actual books. There was a large fireplace along one wall, and opposite that, a simple, white baby grand piano.

“You have a piano,” Crowley remarked, walking over to stroke his fingers along the keys.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you played. Maybe you’d like to play something for us later?”

“Sure,” Crowley said, already wishing they’d just get on with it and go somewhere else so he could call Aziraphale to let him know they made it safely. It was half past 5:00 in DC, but it was half past 10:00 in London.

Crowley shot a look towards Louis, hoping he’d catch the hint. Thankfully, he did. “Crowley’s still on London time, Harriet,” he said. “How about you and I go grab dinner and let him get settled? Does that sound good to you, too, Crowley?”

Harriet watched as Crowley nodded, perhaps a little too readily, but said nothing about it. She looked towards Louis with a smile. “I’d like that.”

“Did you want us to bring you something?” Louis asked.

“There’s also plenty of food in the fridge,” Harriet said. “Lots of sandwich fixin’s, all sorts of things. You’re welcome to all of it.”

“That’ll be fine, thanks,” Crowley said. “I’ll just do a bit of refrigerator scavenging and get settled in.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” Harriet began.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not offended. This is better,” Crowley said, truthfully. “I don’t really _know_ what I want to eat. It’s easier to have a few options right in front of me. I’d just spend an hour trying to decide otherwise.” He waved his hand. “You two go on, don’t worry about me.”

Harriet shot a glance at Louis, who simply nodded reassuringly.

“All right, then,” she said, taking Louis by the arm. “We’ll leave you to it.”

After Louis and Harriet left, Crowley made his way to find the kitchen. Walking through the door, he dialed Aziraphale.

“ _Crowley_! How was your flight?” Aziraphale asked, answering on the first ring.

“Oh, you’re not going to believe this,” Crowley said, picking up the bud vase and walking over to the sink. He put the phone on speaker, setting it on the worktop as he began to unwrap the rose.

“What are you doing? What’s that noise?”

“Someone sent me a rose, and I have to take proper care of it,” Crowley said, snipping the corner off of the flower water packet he found at the bottom of the wrapping. He poured it into the vase before adding water.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, pleasantly. “I’m so glad it made it to you. They said they might not be able to deliver it today.”

“Thank you, Angel,” Crowley said, running a little water into a bowl to lower the end of the rose stem into so he could trim it at an angle. “As many times as you’ve sent me flowers, I think I’m becoming rather good at setting them up.”

“You’re likely to get better before you come home,” Aziraphale said with a grin in his voice.

Crowley stopped, resting his hands on the edge of the sink. “Are you planning to send me flowers every day again?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Aziraphale said smugly. “Planning implies that I haven’t _already_ put the order in.”

Crowley shook his head, laughing quietly as he walked over to the refrigerator to see what awaited him there.

“So, you were saying? How was the trip?”

Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes. He began to explain his conversation with Aziraphale as he assembled a plate with a rather impressive sandwich. There were four different kinds of cheese, and he took it as a challenge to readily accept. They continued the conversation while he ate, and as he washed his plate to put in the drainboard. Carrying the phone and the bud vase, Crowley went to his room.

“I hate to be this way,” Aziraphale said, “But I think I’ll need to call it a night soon. I’m a bit more tired than I thought I’d be.”

Upon placing the bud vase on the dresser next to his laptop case, Crowley had an idea. He picked up the case and headed for the piano.

Carefully, he closed the lid, as he didn’t need for it to be very loud at all. His audience wasn’t in the room. They were behind the laptop microphone that would pick up everything just fine anyway.

“Angel, you’re about to have an incoming video call,” Crowley explained as he set up the laptop on the top of the piano.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, his voice suddenly dropping an octave.

“Not that kind of call,” Crowley said. “A regular one. Keep your shirt on.”

“Well, I suppose,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Just answer the call, Angel,” Crowley laughed affectionately.

They soon were face-to-face, smiling dopily back and forth at one another through their computer monitors.

“So,” Aziraphale began. “What did you have in mind?”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows and began to play.

_Stars shining bright above you  
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"  
Birds singing in the sycamore tree  
Dream a little dream of me_

Aziraphale was practically beaming on the screen as Crowley watched, playing softly while singing directly to him.

_Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me  
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me  
While I'm alone and blue as can be  
Dream a little dream of me_

Crowley closed his eyes happily, swaying as he continued to serenade his angel.

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear  
Still craving your kiss  
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear  
Just saying this_

It was important, he thought, saying goodnight. It _meant_ something, and he didn’t want to miss it just because he was an ocean away.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
But in your dreams whatever they be  
Dream a little dream of me_

After he had finished playing, they ended the video call, but stayed on the phone with one another. Crowley returned to his room and prepared for bed, dressing in one of Aziraphale's button downs with a fresh spritz of his cologne.

“I miss you already,” Crowley said quietly, slipping beneath the covers.

“I miss you, too, my dear,” Aziraphale replied with a soft sigh.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Crowley said with a pout. “That’s the hard part of this, I think. Not being able to see you to at least touch you while I’m over here.”

“And if you could touch me, how would you go about it?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I’d pull your arms around me. I like your arms,” Crowley said, pulling a pillow close to his chest. “I like it when you hold me.”

“Is your hair in your eyes? Oh, what am I saying, of course it is,” Aziraphale murmured, affectionately amused. “Would you allow me to brush it out of the way so I could see them?”

“Please,” Crowley answered quietly.

“You have the most expressive eyes, my darling. They’re quite lovely. I’d like it very much if you’d brush the hair back behind your ear with your hand, but hold it there, on the side of your face. That’s what I would do, were I there with you. I would brush it aside so that I could look upon you _properly_ as I held you.”

Crowley nuzzled his cheek against his own palm happily. “And then what?”

“I would part your tranquil lips to pledge my fidelity to you. I would trace my pious devotions upon your ambrosial tongue. Were I able, I would declare my oath sub rosa, concealed and protected by the satiny petal of your mouth. These assurances, these _guarantees_ , would be yours, and yours alone. Not hidden in shame, but kept as a private lover’s embrace beneath the moonlight.”

 _Oh, **fuck** , _Crowley thought. _That’s the good stuff right there. How am I supposed to respond to that?_

“Ngk,” Crowley somehow managed, eliciting a soft, but delighted chuckle on the other end of the line.

There was a companionable silence between them as they lay there, each in their respective beds, drifting blissfully closer and closer into each other’s sweetest dreams.

“Goodnight, Starlight,” Aziraphale said, sleepily.

Crowley sighed with a smile, closing his eyes again and hugging his pillow tightly. “Goodnight, Angel.”

Crowley was sitting in the living room on a couch, talking to Aziraphale on the phone, when a flash of something young, brunette, and wild suddenly slammed into him.

“Uncle Crowley!” Warlock shouted, squeezing tightly.

“Pigeon!” Crowley exclaimed, voice cracking as he was suddenly overcome. “Oh, I’ve missed you so,” he said, squeezing back, pecking kisses across the boy’s cheeks and forehead.

“Ew, I’m too old for that,” Warlock grimaced, wiping his face.

“Next thing you know, your uncle is going to offer you a butterscotch or a lemon drop from the bottom of his purse like a little old lady,” Harriet laughed.

Crowley didn’t care. He was still hugging Warlock. “Oh, I would give you _all_ the sweets in _all_ the handbags,” Crowley said, rocking them back and forth, unwilling to let go if he didn’t have to.

“All right, you two. I need to go talk to Thad for a minute before he leaves, and then I’ll go wake up Louis.”

“Okay, Mom. Tell Pop I said bye.”

As much as he hated to pull away, when Harriet left the room, Crowley started to get up. “I brought you something, Pigeon. It’s in my room. I’ll go get it, if you’ll wait here?”

Warlock’s eyes grew in size as he nodded with excitement over a present.

Crowley went to his room and pulled out his mother’s toiletry case. He caressed the black patent leather delicately, folding back the mother-of-pearl handle before unlocking the latch on the front. He pulled out the tiny tissue-wrapped package and returned to the living room.

“My mother gave this to me when I was around your age,” Crowley explained. “And now I’d like you to have it.”

Warlock tore into the tissue paper to reveal a small sterling silver ring with a crescent moon and a star. “I can _really_ have this?” Warlock asked, not taking his eyes off of the ring.

“If you’ll take care of it. It’s very important to me, and I hope that it will be important to you as well.”

“Thank you,” Warlock said.

“Go on, then. Put it on,” Crowley said, already feeling the sting in his nose and eyes that told him he was about to need a tissue.

Both of their heads turned as they heard the sound of a throat clearing from across the couch.

“Oh, Angel!” Crowley said. “I’m so sorry. Have you been waiting this whole time?”

“Well, _yes_. I didn’t want you to think I had hung up on you, so I decided to wait until I could let you know I was hanging up.”

“Who is that?” Warlock asked.

“This is Aziraphale, and he’s very special to me. Would you like to say hello?” Crowley nodded to the phone lying next to them.

“Hi,” Warlock said, looking down at the phone but not moving away from Crowley.

“Young master Warlock!” Aziraphale greeted pleasantly. “Why, I do believe we’ve spoken before, the first time you and Crowley talked to one another on the webcam.”

“Oh, okay. Hi,” Warlock said, relaxing a little bit. “I remember you.”

Louis spent the morning asleep while Crowley and Warlock spent time together. They talked about everything and nothing, and everything else. When Louis woke up, the four of them went out to lunch, continuing on as if no time had passed at all.

As the day grew later, Crowley elected to stay behind once again, this time to allow Louis, Harriet, and Warlock some time alone together. Harriet had just dropped him back off at the house when a delivery person showed up with a bouquet of orange, red, and white roses.

Crowley went straight to his room to call Aziraphale to thank him.

“Angel, you spoil me,” he said, sniffing the roses lovingly. He’d put them in a vase later once Harriet returned. He didn’t want to go around snooping.

“You’re worth it,” Aziraphale replied happily.

“They’re beautiful,” Crowley said.

“Just like you.”

Crowley happily sighed, wondering how he ever got so lucky. He glanced over at his guitar case. “Angel, are you sleepy?

“I’m getting there, I’m afraid.

“Get cozy in your bed and get your laptop ready.”

“I thought you said we—”

“ _Yes_ , I did. We’re _not_ doing _that_ while I’m here,” Crowley laughed. “But I _still_ want to _see_ you.”

Crowley set the laptop up in the floor and connected the call.

“Hello, Starlight,” the voice on the other side of the screen said.

Crowley slumped against the wall, eyes closed to savor it. How was it that it still felt so good to be called that? He wondered if Aziraphale got a similar thrill when Crowley called him Angel. He hoped so.

“Oh!” Crowley exclaimed, reaching over to grab something, tilting the laptop to prop the bottom up.

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asked. “Are you sticking something underneath your computer?”

“Take care of things, Angel. Take care of things and they’ll stay with you,” he said. “Don’t want to block the vents on the carpet. Might overheat.”

Aziraphale laughed, but didn’t argue. He was too distracted by Crowley sitting back down in front of the screen while holding his guitar.

“I’m going to sing you to sleep," Crowley said with a wobble of his head and a silly grin.

Aziraphale wiggled with excitement as Crowley closed his eyes and began to play.

_See the pyramids along the Nile  
Watch the sun rise  
From the tropic isle  
Just remember darling  
All the while  
You belong to me_

Aziraphale delighted in watching Crowley’s bare toes moving to keep time.

_  
See the marketplace  
In old Algiers  
Send me photographs and souvenirs  
Just remember  
When a dream appears  
You belong to me_

Crowley opened his eyes, turning to look directly at the webcam.

_And I'll be so alone without you  
Maybe you'll be lonesome too_

Crowley stopped playing just long enough to blow a kiss to the screen.

_Fly the ocean  
In a silver plane  
See the jungle  
When it's wet with rain  
Just remember till  
You're home again  
You belong to me_

“Goodnight, Starlight.”

“Goodnight, Angel.”

Crowley put his guitar away and turned off his laptop. He went out into the living room to wait for everyone to return. He needed the vase from Harriet, but more importantly, it was his turn to tuck Warlock in.

“Oh, those are lovely,” Harriet said. “If you’d like, I can go ahead and take care of these for you while you’re with Warlock. I really don’t mind,” she said.

Crowley really _had_ wanted to do it himself, but he could see she was making an effort to get along with him. As she was allowing him unfettered access to Warlock, he decided to meet her halfway. “I’d appreciate that, thank you,” he said.

Harriet smiled, taking the roses and rushing over to the sink to get started.

Crowley walked down the long hallway towards Warlock’s room.

“Might I come in, Pigeon?” Crowley said, leaning against the open door.

“Yeah,” Warlock said, sitting up in his bed.

“It’s my turn to say goodnight,” Crowley said. “I thought maybe I might sing to you like I used to,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t you think I’m a little _old_ for that?” Warlock asked sassily.

“My Angel is 40 years older than you, and I just sung him a lullaby before you got home tonight.”

“Oh,” Warlock said, considering.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna do it anyway,” Crowley grinned, reaching over to boop Warlock’s nose. “And you can’t stop me when I start singing,” he said with a wink.

“All right, I guess,” Warlock said petulantly as he got back under the covers, trying to hide his grin beneath a phony scowl.

_"Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself  
Follow your heart and nothing else  
And you can do this, if you try  
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied"_

Crowley reached over as Warlock snuggled underneath the covers, tucking him in.

_"And be a simple kind of man  
Be something you love and understand  
Baby, be a simple kind of man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"_

Warlock fell asleep almost immediately. Crowley leaned over to place a kiss to the top of his head before quietly slipping out of the room.

“I have been practicing for this moment my _entire life_. I have heard rumor that turkeys are vicious, apex predators that would just as soon kill a man as look at him.” Aziraphale could practically hear the twinkle in Crowley’s eye over the phone. “And I’m going to _eat_ _it_.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You’ve had turkey before. We had it at Michael’s for Christmas.”

“Not like _this_ , Angel. It’s huge! It’s twenty-two pounds, they said! I looked it up. That’s _ten kilograms_! They’re so much bigger over here. This one is big enough I could put a saddle on it and ride it into battle. But I’m not, because I’m gonna _eat_ it.”

A few more days, lullabies for kids aged 11-51, and many more conversations passed. Warlock had Thanksgiving morning and brunch with Thad, and was dropped back off to Harriet for a late lunch.

“I need to talk to you,” Louis said, sitting down next to Crowley at the table while Warlock was helping Harriet put things away in the kitchen. “Tomorrow, you’ll be flying back to London alone.”

“Oh, Louis, what have you done?” Crowley deflated noisily.

“What I _need_ to do. I, I’m going to stay for a few weeks to see how things go.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now,” Crowley said, his eyebrows furrowed into a worried expression.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust _you_ ,” Crowley said, tilting his head, the curl of his lip turning into a thoughtful pout, “But I don’t trust your _judgement_ right now.”

“Let me have this, Crowley,” Louis whispered, his eyes red and pleading. “Let me at _least_ have one Christmas again, as a family.”

Crowley blew his cheeks out. He knew it wasn’t his decision, and that Louis was going to do whatever it was he was going to do, regardless of what Crowley had to say. He just wanted to know he had Crowley’s support.

“You won’t be able to talk me out of this, Crowley,” Louis said softly. “So, you needn’t bother to try.”

“No, I don’t suppose I could,” Crowley admitted, looking at Louis with a blend of sadness and hope. “And, for what it’s worth, I look forward to being wrong.”

Louis smiled. “I know you do. And thank you for that.” Louis patted Crowley on the shoulder and went back into the kitchen.

“Oh, Angel, you have no idea. American Thanksgiving is so full of gluttony and sloth and it is _glorious_. I unhinged my jaw, ate enough to feed a small army, and just slept away the rest of the afternoon.”

“Uncle Crowley?”

Crowley looked up at the doorway to see Warlock standing there, waiting. “Hold on a moment, Angel. Warlock needs something,” he said, moving the phone from his ear. “Yes, Pigeon? You can come in.”

Warlock dragged his feet as he came around to sit down in a slump next to Crowley. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly, pulling him into a hug.

Warlock looked up at him with a sad expression. “I’m going to have to miss you all over again.”

“Oh, _Pigeon_ ,” Crowley said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head with a shaky breath. “It’s not forever, though. We’ll see each other again. You know that, don’t you? It’s _different_ now.”

“I guess,” Warlock said in a huff. “Why can’t you stay longer, like my dad?”

Crowley looked up to the ceiling, searching for words. “It’s complicated, Warlock,” he said. And wasn’t _that_ an understatement, he thought. “There are a lot of reasons, I’m afraid.” He smiled down at him. “But you don’t need to worry about all of that.”

“Don’t you _want_ to stay?”

Crowley was hit by a pang of remorse. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how much he dreaded leaving Warlock behind. The whole situation was difficult for everyone, but it was _especially_ so for Warlock.

At least it really _was_ different this time. Tomorrow wasn’t goodbye. It would be a _see you later_. They were going to be able to have that, this time. A hug farewell, a kiss on the cheek to promise a return. This was a second chance for everyone to do right by Warlock, finally.

“Of course, I do, Pigeon. I do. But you see, while one half of my heart is right here, with you,” Crowley explained, placing his hand on Warlock’s chest. “The other half belongs to an Angel back home.”

“Is that the man on the phone?”

“Yes,” Crowley smiled. “And I hope someday the two of you will get to meet one another.” He picked up the phone, tilting it to light up the screen for the time. “But it’s late. You really should be asleep right now. I should be, too, I think.”

Warlock begrudgingly stood up, moving for the door. He hesitated, then turned around. “Will you sing to me? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course, dear,” Crowley said, smiling fondly. “You don’t mind, do you Aziraphale?” Crowley said, holding the phone back up to his ear. “You can come, too, if you like.”

“I’d like that _very_ much,” Aziraphale said with appreciation.

They walked down the hall, passing several doors before coming to the end. Warlock ran through the doorway and jumped up on the bed.

“Let’s get you all tucked in, shall we?” Crowley said, leaning over to bring the covers up around the boy, phone securely pinched between his head and shoulder. “What would you like to hear?” Crowley asked, smoothing the edges of the blankets out. “The usual?”

“Nah. I’m in the mood for something different,” he said thoughtfully. “Surprise me.”

Crowley smiled fondly. It delighted him how much Warlock had grown up. But it was a dual-edged sword, those years between. Crowley had missed out on so much of the boy’s life. And in spite of knowing what his own mother would have to say about it, Crowley was _still_ angry with Harriet for that. He knew she did things out of fear, of course. She was scared to lose Warlock. He couldn’t fault her for _that_ at least, and so he tried to keep that thought up front.

 _Understanding_ a thing doesn’t necessarily _shield_ one from it.

Crowley wasn’t just angry for himself, either. He was angry for Louis. Crowley was angry at the way it had _broken_ him. Though at this moment, he was angry _at_ Louis as well. Crowley understood that Louis was an adult. He was resourceful, responsible, decisive, shrewdly intelligent, and quite capable of making his own decisions. Louis was the epitome of the wisdom of choice… _Except_ where Harriet was concerned. When Harriet was involved, Louis followed her around blindly. Anything she wanted, she had. All she had to do was smile in his general direction. It wasn’t that she took advantage of him, not on purpose, anyway. It’s that she knew how gone he was for her. She _knew_ , and should have been more careful with him.

Louis had been quite reasonable about the paternity tests before. Though it wounded him deeply, he had been civil about Harriet going back to Thad, because she said that was what she wanted. He was _hurt_ , and angry, but he was willing to let her go to ensure her happiness. He had even begun to prepare for the possibility that Warlock wasn’t his, coming up with potential plans to still be involved in his life in ways that would disturb Harriet as little as possible. Those plans crumbled into dust when she took Warlock and left without a trace.

Crowley didn’t want to see Louis at the bottom once more. Crowley knew he would _try_ to help Louis if it came down to it, but Crowley was worried he wouldn’t be able to bring Louis back from the brink again. If Crowley were being honest with himself, as good as he had been feeling, he knew he still had progress he needed to make on the road to a better place. He was making great strides, but he recognized that he still had moments where he was scared, moments where he caught himself reaching for _something_ out of habit.

Crowley knew two things for certain. He still had to be careful with himself, and he _absolutely_ would be there for Louis, even if that was counterproductive. He’d need to talk to Deirdre about this when he got back home. She could probably help him come up with some coping mechanisms and give some advice. He hoped he wouldn’t need it.

Maybe Crowley was being too hard on Harriet. He realized he was still a little bit upset about a few things that had happened between himself and Aziraphale as well. While it was true that he had moved past most of it, there were still some things he needed to work through rather than simply let go. And he was _doing_ that, because he loved Aziraphale and wanted to make it work more than anything. Was it fair of him to try to convince Louis that he shouldn’t do the same thing? And even if it didn’t work out, what if Louis _needed_ the confirmation that he _tried_ , that _closure_? Crowley knew that it was different, what he and Aziraphale were doing, than what was happening with Louis and Harriet. But was it really _that_ different?

If Louis had been missing Harriet all these years the way Crowley had missed Aziraphale, who was he to stand in the way of Louis trying to heal what was broken inside of him? What kind of friend would he be to stand between Louis and the two loves of his life, Harriet and Warlock?

 _I’ll still drag you back to London by your ear if I need to,_ Crowley thought. _I’ll figure something out._

Crowley realized that, in that very moment, the two halves of his own heart were right there with him, waiting on his voice.

_Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes  
And save these questions for another day  
I think I know what you've been asking me  
I think you know what I've been trying to say_

Warlock had been losing people all his life, it seemed. Crowley was far too familiar with that feeling. But would be _different_ this time, Crowley thought. He would be certain of it.

Crowley slipped Warlock’s hand into his own. It seemed so small between his own long fingers. He smiled down at the silver band with a moon and star, pressing a soft, familial kiss against the knuckles.

_  
I promised I would never leave you  
Then you should always know  
Wherever you may go, no matter where you are  
I never will be far away_

Crowley gently stroked Warlock’s cheek, smiling as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He might be a mature and wizened eleven-year-old spawn of Satan, but to Crowley, Warlock would _always_ be his darling, angelic little pigeon.

_Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep  
And still so many things I want to say  
Remember all the songs you sang for me  
When we went sailing on an emerald bay  
And like a boat out on the ocean  
I'm rocking you to sleep  
The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart  
You'll always be a part of me_

Even if everything ended up in a burning puddle of goo, they would find one another again. Warlock had his phone number, email, social media, all of it. They wouldn’t disappear from one another again, not forever, not this time.

_Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream  
And dream how wonderful your life will be  
Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby  
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me_

As much as Crowley would miss Warlock, and he _would_ , he couldn’t help looking forward to seeing the other angel in his life again tomorrow night.

Crowley smiled, his heart lifted into flight upon the shared wings of a pigeon and a dove.

_  
Someday we'll all be gone  
But lullabies go on and on  
They never die  
That's how you and I will be_

"Goodnight, my angels."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warlock's first Lullaby was the same as Crowley's,  
> [Sierra Eagleson's cover of Simple Man.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFOk2AMpuwA)
> 
> If you’re wondering if references to “Goodnight, Angel,” were nods to the Lockdown video, that was an ineffable coincidence. The majority of that part in this chapter was written and/or plotted back when I did the art and posted it on Patreon a couple of weeks ago. I filled in a bit over the weekend, but the bones were already there. Part of the delay was because I ended up shifting a few things around and cutting a song that I really liked, but it didn't really fit with the rest of the chapter. (It will be included in another chapter instead, where it will fit better.)  
> But wasn’t it just the best of coincidences? I love when things like that happen.


	45. A Mighty Flame Followeth A Tiny Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jupiter - Jewel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDHHXq_mK3I)  
> [Love On The Brain - Machine Gun Kelly cover of Rhianna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgLEn8OXFks) (Listen to this specific version for the mood of the scene)  
> [Leaving On A Jet Plane - John Denver (cover) Reneé Dominique ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLVlS-mHQbw)  
> [Blackbird - Boyce Avenue cover of Beatles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SxWtQzL6js)
> 
> Chapter title by Dante. This is what you get from an English and Lit major.

Crowley had just walked into the Lounge when he heard a voice calling out from behind him.

“You _bellend_. You complete fucking _pillock_. You absolute _weapon_ of a _tosser_.”

“Beelz,” Crowley said, turning around in surprise. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Crowley, the traitor.”

“That’s not a nice word.”

“All the other words I have for you are worse. Where’s _Louis_ , Crowley?”

Crowley stood, eyes wide and mouth open, a bit afraid to speak.

“I want to know why I just got off the phone with my brother, who is _still in the states_ , when he should have come home with you two days ago,” Beelz glared. “Well? Have you anything to say?”

“I’m… Er, uh, I’m supposed to b-be working now,” Crowley verbally stumbled, pointing towards the piano.

“Nope. No, you’re not,” Beelz said. “I’ve already talked to Eric, and he’s covered your shift. We need to _talk_.”

Hal walked past them towards the stage area, throwing an apologetic glance in Crowley’s direction as he did so.

They pointed to a table in the far corner of the room, indicating that Crowley should go sit down. Crowley sheepishly made eye contact with one of the waiters, holding up two fingers, before going to sit down. They followed, glaring as they sat in the chair opposite him. “How is it you’re _here_ , _Crowley_ , at work, when you’re supposed to be with Louis, _Crowley_? Why is Louis still in the states if you’re _here_ , _Crowley_?”

Crowley cringed. “Stop saying my name like that. It’s terrifying.”

“It’s _supposed_ to be, _Anthony Judas Crowley_! How _could_ you? You _know_ better.”

“W- we-well, I can’t very well tell him not to, can I?” Crowley sputtered, wide-eyed. “You know what I’m trying to do with Aziraphale. I have neither the right nor the room to stand in the way of—”

“As to what it stands in the way of, that has yet to be decided. But the reality is that he’s going to lose himself, _again_. He’s going to get hurt, _again_ , if he hasn’t already.” Beelz rubbed their hands through their hair. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“How can you possibly ask me that?” Crowley hissed quietly. “You _know_ I do. I was the one who had to pick him up off the floor and keep him together.”

“That’s not fair,” Beelz said, hurt evident in their voice.

Crowley softened. “I didn’t mean it like that. You _would_ have, and we both know it. You were doing what you were supposed to be doing, what Louis _wanted_ you to be doing. You finishing up your doctorate is a point of pride for him.” Crowley looked up at them with a crooked smile. Crowley looked up and nodded as the waiter put down two glasses of Crowley’s regular beverage order, water with cherries and lemon slices, down on the table. Crowley slid one of the glasses towards Beelz.

Beelz narrowed their eyes slightly, huffing out a breath through their nose with a lopsided pout.

“So, are you still angry?” Crowley asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you still angry with _me_?”

Beelz let out the most put-upon sigh, rolling their eyes. “You’re the one in front of me right now, so _yes_. I’m extremely angry, and I’m taking it out on _you_.”

“That doesn’t seem very healthy,” Crowley said with a half-grin. “You might want to see someone about that. I know some people. Might put in a good word.”

Beelz looked up at Crowley with a guilty expression. “Since you bring it up, there’s something you should probably know. He didn’t want anyone to know, but I’m scared it might happen again. After _the incident_ , Louis—”

“He told me,” Crowley said, gently interrupting.

Beelz’s eyes widened slightly. “He did? What did he tell you, exactly?” They asked, cautiously.

“Y-yeah, he, uh, he told me about checking into the hospital. That’s, um…” Crowley glanced around the room to see there were few people, and no one at any of the tables close by. “That’s actually how he convinced _me_ to go into _your_ program. I didn’t know about it before he talked to me about checking myself in, though, and obviously, he didn’t mention it was yours, but he told me how much a program like that helped him when he... Well,” Crowley sniffed, taking a sip of his water.

Beelz blew their cheeks out and slumped back in their chair, appearing to relax a little more. “Right. So why did you let him stay, then, if you knew what he had gone through?”

“I don’t think it’s going to get to that point again. I hope not, anyway. But you know how he is. How was I supposed to stop him? At least this way, he’s not hiding it. Maybe he’ll talk to me, if…” Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes with a sigh. “ _When_ it all goes to Hell again.” Crowley looked down at the table, tracing his finger through the ring of condensation, drawing sigils where he had moved his glass. “He talked to me about it, about staying there for a few weeks, too. Like he wanted my blessing.” He looked up. “He asked me that if I was right, and she hurt him _again_ , that I would be there for him, and I think that counts for something.”

Beelz looked hopeful. “What did you say?”

“I told him I hoped to be wrong.”

Beelz nodded, then held their head in their hands, groaning quietly in frustration. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t suppose when you spoke with Eric that you asked him about the plan?”

“What plan? I don’t think so.”

“At the first sign of trouble, whether Louis asks me or not, Eric will take me off the schedule and book me on the first flight to DC. I will drag Louis back by his toes if I have to.”

“Are you going to be able to _do_ that, Crowley?”

“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?”

“I’m being serious, here,” they frowned. “Are you going to be able to be around that sort of behavior, if he gets that bad again? You know as well as I do that he doesn’t like to drink alone. And if he's already--”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly. “I’ll be all right. You and your people do good work. Well, mostly,” Crowley winked as Beelz cringed at the memory of what the trainee had been allowed to let happen when Gabe had been brought in.

“Between your program and the work I’ve been doing with Deirdre, not to mention Aziraphale’s progress, I’m in a much better place now than I think I’ve _ever_ been.” 

While all of that was true, Crowley was also terrified. One wrong move and he stood to lose everything. He wasn’t certain how he would react to seeing Louis in such a state again, but he felt he owed it to Louis to be there for him, and he _said_ he would, which _meant_ something. But more than that, Crowley began to realize, was that Louis, Beelz and Dana were the closest thing to family that he had, other than Aziraphale. It was about time he acted like it, even if it frightened him to do so.

Aziraphale glanced down at his phone.

> **I find myself  
>  suddenly off  
>  work and in  
>  need of a hug**
> 
> **Are you ok?**
> 
> **Yeah but I  
>  still need a hug**
> 
> **Can I come over?**
> 
> **Of course.  
>  The door will  
>  unlocked. Just  
>  come in when  
>  you get here.**

A bit later, there was a knock on the door before Crowley opened it, going straight over to Aziraphale’s lap to wrap his arms tightly around his angel.

“Whatever is the matter?” Aziraphale asked, squeezing back.

“Beelz was mean to me,” came the muffled voice on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow with a smirk. “Were they correct?”

There was a pause. “Maybe.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, rubbing circles into Crowley’s back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Crowley groaned, flinging himself slowly, but dramatically, over onto the couch. “No, but I _need_ to.”

Crowley recounted his conversation with Beelz earlier that evening, explaining the reasoning behind the decisions as well. Crowley noticed, not for the first time, more loose parallels between Louis’s situation and his own, though there were still many obvious differences.

Crowley knew he was still upset about some things that had happened between himself and Aziraphale, but he still was working on figuring them out. Was it residual anger at the Harriet situation? How could he be sure?

Aziraphale had apologized, hadn’t he? Many times, for many things. But that was the issue, wasn’t it? How many ways could someone apologize before the words began to lose meaning? Did Crowley even deserve an apology from Aziraphale? Crowley wasn’t certain.

Somehow, he found himself arguing with Aziraphale over the exact thing he knew he _did_ deserve, but felt wrong accepting.

“I hurt you, Crowley. Motive or not, I _did_.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no. No, it’s fine,” Crowley argued.

“It’s _not_ fine, Crowley. You deserve—”

“Aziraphale, I _don’t_. It’s _fine_.” _What am I doing? It’s not fine, and I know it. Why am I acting like this?_

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, getting irritated. “I don’t mean to make this about myself, here, but I can’t move forward if I don’t acknowledge my responsibility, and neither can you. You deserve better than that.”

“Are you actually angry that I’m _not_ angry with you?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “I’m angry that you’re _lying_ to us both about that.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like that. But Crowley, listen to yourself. You can’t handwave away my role. You’ve been letting me get by with things I have no right to do, and that’s on _both_ of us.” Aziraphale looked around, clenching his jaw. “Crowley, you deserve—"

“I _really_ wish you’d stop telling me what I deserve,” Crowley snapped.

“And I really wish you’d stop pretending that everything is fine,” Aziraphale shot back.

“Do you _want_ me to yell at you?” Crowley asked, incredulously.

“Obviously not,” Aziraphale scoffed. “But I want you to do what you said you needed to do to _heal_. You _need_ to hold me accountable for my part. Crowley, I can’t lose you again. You’re too important.”

Crowley found himself at a loss for words. He stared at Aziraphale, wide-eyes and nervous.

“You haven’t called me Angel once since you’ve been back from the states,” Aziraphale said quietly. “When we talked on the phone the night before you came home, everything was wonderful. Something happened between our last phone call and when you got off that plane. Now, I don’t know what it is, and maybe you don’t, either, but it feels like resentment to me. You need to let it out, because it’s obviously bothering you.”

 _Oh_ , Crowley thought. He _had_ been doing that, hadn’t he? His last conversation with Harriet knocked a few feelings loose that he hadn’t fully strapped down safely yet. Crowley knew he still thought about Aziraphale as his Angel. He had earlier, even. But had he really not said it out loud since he sang to him?

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley began, “I’m _sorry_.”

“Crowley, you—” Aziraphale’s face contorted into a grimace. “Tell me what I did, please. I need to know what I did so I can fix it.”

Crowley closed the distance between them to hold Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “I _am_ sorry, Aziraphale. This time it really _is_ me. I, um, I think I’ve been taking something someone else did out on you, and I’m sorry. Yes, yes, you did hurt me, and I’m still working through that, but there’s more to this,” he said.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing what had happened in DC, along with a bit from before, finding the similarities and discussing the differences within the situations. It was a long, emotionally draining conversation, but one the needed to have. After several hours, they found themselves drifting closer and closer to one another as they spoke, arguing less and agreeing more, until eventually, they fell asleep leaning against one another.

Crowley’s eye flickered open partially, but only just the one. Sleep fighting angrily against the intrusion of the dim light coming from the kitchen, he couldn’t focus much on anything. Unable to see clearly, he reached up to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion disturbed the warm, soft thing he was leaned against on the couch. Crowley’s lizard brain hissed internally as the loss of warmth as the soft thing moved away from him.

“We fell asleep,” the angel-shaped heated pillow mumbled through a yawn, standing up. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

Crowley, though too sleepy to argue, was _never_ too sleepy to whine. “Hnnnnnnggghhhh,” came his eloquent and elongated rebuttal.

Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed where he stood. “I’m _so_ tired. We both are. You can sleep there, or you can come lie down in the bed and get some rest. Just, just—”

Crowley had already begun to snore.

Aziraphale smiled, leaning down to grab the throw blanket to tuck around Crowley.

“Angel,” the sleep-drunk voice stirred. “What were you saying? I missed that last part.”

“That’s because you’re too tired,” Aziraphale answered, biting back his own yawn while trying to stay on his feet. “You’re in no shape to drive home. Just sleep here and you can leave in the morning. I’m going to bed. You can join me if you like,” he said as he began to feel his way down the hall in an attempt to keep his eyes as closed as possible along the way.

Crowley considered his options for a moment, making a series of quietly high-pitched sounds as he stretched and attempted to open both eyes simultaneously. Failing, he begrudgingly found his feet and stumbled down the hallway.

Upon entering the bedroom, he saw Aziraphale, down to his pants and vest, was already lying on one side of the bed with his back to the door. Instinctively, Crowley moved towards the chair where Aziraphale used to lay out his shirts for Crowley to put on to sleep. He stripped himself down to his knickers and picked up the shirt to put it on. _Oh, fuck, it’s still warm,_ he thought as he held it up to his face. He inhaled deeply before pulling it over his head. 

Carefully, he moved the covers back on the empty side of the bed. He crawled over next to Aziraphale, settling down beside him, before pulling the blanket over them both. He relaxed as strong arms wrapped around him from behind, soothing him enough to fall back into sleep.

Golden sunlight filled the room when next Crowley opened his eyes. The arms that had pulled him into sleep were still wrapped around his chest. He gently shifted around to see the sea-glass eyes of the owner of those arms smiling serenely at him.

“Morning,” Crowley said quietly, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Aziraphale answered, practically glowing in the early morning sunlight coming through the window.

“What’s got you so happy?” Crowley asked, settling his head into the pillow.

“You.”

“That’s cheesy and extremely cliché,” Crowley said with just enough of a grin to show he was teasing.

Aziraphale let out a breath through his nose with a contented hum. “We didn’t have sex last night.”

Crowley’s eyes widened into a smile. “We _didn’t_ , did we,” he said, reveling in the implication that not only _had_ they slept together, but they had _not_ actually _Slept_ _together_ , the kind deserving a capital S. There wasn’t even any excuse of tubes or wires in the way or anything. They had _every_ opportunity, but _didn’t_. They simply enjoyed being close to one another, regardless of how roughly the conversation had flowed last night.

“I’d say this calls for a celebration,” Aziraphale said, sitting up. “We should get dressed and go to breakfast. What would you say to some crepes?” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“You know, not counting people that don’t go for that sort of thing, most people who _like_ sex might be _disappointed_ to wake up not having _had_ it after a date,” Crowley mused.

“Yes, but _we_ are strange and damaged people,” Aziraphale said, stretching as he stood up to get dressed. “Traditional rules don’t apply here.”

“Point taken.”

They decided to try a new restaurant this time, taking Anathema’s suggestion based on her recommendation of the quality of the menu. Crowley was pleased to discover they had more than just crepes.

As they ate, the conversation turned towards something a bit heavier than the food.

“I don’t want to _lose_ this,” Crowley said. “We never really, we didn’t get to do all of this before, you know?” Crowley cut a bite of his omelet with his fork. “I think it’s a big deal, what didn’t happen last night. I’m glad. I feel like I can trust myself more, and you, now, knowing we’ve already tackled a difficult conversation without it immediately turning into sex.” He took a bite, chewing a few times before speaking again. “But I’ve been really worried about that. How are you doing? Are you still all right with all of this?”

Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully. He put his fork down, dabbing daintily at his mouth with his napkin. “It’s important to you, so it’s important to me.”

“Are you saying it’s _not_ important to you?”

“I _didn’t_ say that. I…” Aziraphale let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not certain how to explain this in a way that you’ll understand, and I don’t mean that in any sort of derogatory way.”

“I’m listening,” Crowley said, leaning forward to give Aziraphale his full attention.

“Uh,” Aziraphale looked around, lips pressed into a tight line, before suddenly looking back to Crowley. “Okay, so, you and I have different views on intimacy, but the _base_ tenets are the same.”

Crowley considered this, tilting his head. He nodded with an agreeable pout. “I suppose, yes.”

“Well, then, while we both agree that we shouldn’t hide things from one another anymore, and I have been working on that—”

“You really have, and I appreciate it so much,” Crowley nodded, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “Sorry. You were saying?”

Aziraphale beamed fondly at him, not at all upset by the interruption. “I know that, for you, the physical acts of sexuality are something you take _very_ seriously.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed slightly. “Mm-hmm,” he agreed, wondering where Aziraphale was going with this.

“Well, now, that’s not to say that I don’t, of course, but,” Aziraphale began wringing his hands. “Oh, I thought I had this figured out a moment ago.” He took a deep breath, followed by a deep drink from his water. “Everything I have done with you, that we’ve done _together_ , has meant more to me than anything I had with other partners. Do not mistake that. What you and I have shared is just as precious and sacred to me as it has been to you. But unlike you, I have very much enjoyed it purely as a _recreational_ activity with other partners that I had no other interest in whatsoever.”

Aziraphale paused, noting the look of guilt that suddenly darkened Crowley’s face. “What? What is it? What did I say that upset you?”

“I, um,” Crowley said, unable to meet his eye, “It wasn’t always, it,” Crowley let out a quiet growl, rubbing his hand up through his hair, grimacing when it slipped through his fingers. “That night, when I—”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, softly, quickly realizing what Crowley was referring to. “I understand now.”

“No, I think I do. It’s, I think I _need_ to talk about it. I need to so I can let it go.”

“All right, then,” Aziraphale said softly. Aziraphale was fully-aware that the man Crowley had slept with while they were apart was simply a client. He knew it was purely a business transaction. Aziraphale _also_ knew he himself had multiple one-time sexual partners in the past that lasted no longer than an evening. He had no room to judge. But as hypocritical as it felt to him to be this way, he really _wasn’t_ comfortable thinking about Crowley with anyone else. But he also could see how much it was eating away at Crowley. Aziraphale knew how important, how _sacred_ , sex was for him. if Crowley needed to talk about it, he would listen.

“You know, don’t you, that I never would have done that, if—“

“If I hadn’t pushed you to it?” Aziraphale reached over to take Crowley’s hand.

“No!” Crowley said, horrified. “No, that was my decision. I’m not blaming you for it. And I’m not _ashamed_ of the act itself. You know how I feel about that. I think the world of Dana and Tracy, and everyone else in that line of work. And at the time, I thought it was the right choice for me, well, as much as I was capable of making the right choice then. But I know what it means to me, and I regret what I did.” He pulled a bit of hair forward, looking at the end, before turning his face back down. “That’s why I cut my hair the next morning. I didn’t…” Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed and his chin quivered. “The thought of someone’s hands in my hair other than yours disgusts me.” Without lifting his head, he looked up at Aziraphale. “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale reached over, cupping his chin to lift his face. “You owe me no apology. But if you need my forgiveness, my _acceptance_ , it was yours from the start.”

Crowley leaned back slightly, tilting his head to press against the warmth cupping his jaw.

“You say it was your decision,” Aziraphale continued, caressing Crowley’s cheek with his thumb, “And I don’t question your autonomy. But you weren’t alone in that. My own actions played a major role in how everything worked out. I won’t allow you to carry all that blame, because it isn’t completely yours. I put you in a _terrible_ position, one where there were no _good_ ways to react that wouldn’t ultimately be painful. How you chose to cope with things, that _was_ your decision. But though my intentions were good, the decisions _I_ made took other choices you might have had away from you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Until that moment, Crowley hadn’t realized just how much he _needed_ to hear Aziraphale say that. Aziraphale had apologized for so much, even just the night before, but it was here, now, where he acknowledged something Crowley himself had been too angry about to focus on clearly enough to see, that Crowley truly felt seen and valued in a way he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Crowley intended to send Maud a gift hamper. A _big_ one.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I’m sorry for doing that to you, for putting you through all of that.”

Crowley, upon feeling the stinging prelude in his nose and eyes, quickly grabbed his glass. He focused on the cool water as it passed through his lips and across his tongue, down his suddenly dry and tight throat. He was feeling entirely too much right now. He looked above the rim of his glass to see reddened eyes of understanding staring back at him.

Shakily, Crowley put his glass back down. He wiped the corners of his mouth with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, pausing to pinch at his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” Crowley said quietly with an upward glance towards Aziraphale.

They were both surprised to find they felt lighter, somehow, than they had in a long time. It was funny how that kept happening as they had more and more of these conversations.

The couple sat quietly, ankles woven between each other underneath the table. Forks darting between one another’s plates and lips, they shared a peaceful, satisfying breakfast together.

After the plates had been cleared and a fresh pot of tea served, Crowley spoke.

“I think we have a bit more to discuss.”

Aziraphale looked up from his teacup. “Oh?”

Crowley looked across Aziraphale’s face, tilting his head as he did so. “I want to be able to touch you.”

Aziraphale put his cup down. “You don’t have to ask. You can just reach out any time you like, and—”

“No, Aziraphale. I mean I want to be able to _touch_ you. And I want _you_ to touch _me_.”

“Oh. _Oh_!” Aziraphale exclaimed, suddenly understanding. “Right _now_?”

“ _No_ , no, not right now. And not today, I don’t think. Probably not even this week. But I think maybe we might need to discuss this, so when the time comes, when I’m _ready_ , it’s not…” Crowley sighed heavily. “I love what we’ve got right now so much. I don’t want to lose that. That’s what I was getting at earlier, when I said I was scared. I don’t want us to keep using sex as a way to avoid dealing with things. But I _miss_ your hands, Aziraphale. I don’t think I really understood just how much until I woke up in your arms this morning.”

“Not that I want to discourage this, not at all, but how much _have_ you thought about this?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Well, truthfully, quite a bit. But what was just a thought previously seems much, much more real now, after being reminded.” Crowley looked to Aziraphale with hope. “I _know_ what I’m missing.” _And it’s you_ , he thought.

“Well, I’m certainly not _opposed_ , of course,” Aziraphale said, picking his cup back up for a sip. “But do you think it’s wise? For you, I mean.”

Crowley leaned his head to the side with a look combining appreciation and frustration. “I don’t know. But I know I think about you all the time.”

“Do you think, maybe, you might benefit from going slow? Perhaps establishing some boundaries?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we started with something simple and gradually worked our way up to more? Do you think that might help preserve what we’ve been working towards?” As eager as Aziraphale was to have sex, and he _very much was_ , he realized that he, too, had been truly enjoying getting to know one another all over again.

Crowley considered, looking thoughtfully into his teacup. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.” He took a few sips as he continued to ponder. “Maybe…” He licked his lips and put his cup down. “Maybe we could start with just hands.”

“That sounds nice. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I mean, we could touch each other, but no, um…”

“No penetration?” Aziraphale offered helpfully.

“Ugh,” Crowley groaned. “Why do you have to keep saying that word? I don’t like that word.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to call it,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Insertion?”

“For fuck’s sake, Angel, that’s even _worse_.” Crowley leaned back, facing the ceiling, to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right, uh, okay. So, maybe we can _rub_ things, but nothing, er, nothing goes _inside_ of anything else.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Aziraphale replied. “So, is this limited to hands?”

“What do you mean? Only touching hands? We’re already doing more than that just snogging.”

Aziraphale smiled with a laugh. “That’s true. But I meant are we only using our hands to do the actual rubbing, as it were?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, genuinely caught off guard. “I, well, I suppose other parts couldn’t hurt.”

“ _All_ other parts?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “As long as it stays on the outside,” he said, biting his lip and nodding.

Aziraphale wiggled happily in spite of himself. He looked around thoughtfully as he considered his next question. “What about mouths?”

“Oh, uh, no.” Crowley shook his head slowly. “Nothing goes in mouths except what’s already going in there now. No mouths below the waist.”

“That sounds fair,” Aziraphale conceded, masking his disappointment spectacularly. He was sincere when he said if it was important to Crowley, it was important to him.

Crowley knew him well enough to recognize this, however, knowing how much Aziraphale enjoyed certain oral fixations. “But that doesn’t have to be forever, you know. This, this is just for now.” A flash of concern passed over his face. “But I’m a bit worried about how things might go in the moment. I don’t want to fall back into old habits.” Crowley knew how he had moved forward too quickly in the past, letting himself get too lost and swept away, or worrying over not offering up _enough_ of himself in the moment.

Aziraphale smiled as reassuringly as he could muster. He knew what was going on behind those scared, golden eyes. “What about this,” Aziraphale began, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “What about if we _only_ do things together _without_ clothes on that we’ve discussed and agreed to beforehand, _with_ clothes on?”

Crowley’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s perfect!”

Aziraphale, upon coming home from work, picked up the package that had been left by his door before entering his flat. He put it, along with the post, down on his desk so he could take off his coat and put his phone on the charger. Once he had gotten everything sorted, he walked over to the window next to the desk, twisting the wand to let the evening sunlight in. He flipped through the post, placing a few holiday cards off to the side to keep them separate from the junk mailers, and looked to see the return address on the box. He smiled, seeing it was from his mother. He opened the box to find two identically wrapped boxes, as well as two smaller packages, and a wooden box with an envelope poking out. Aziraphale slipped the letter out carefully to read it first.

> **_My Darling Child,_ **
> 
> **_I regret that we have been called away to the states again this year. We had hoped to be through with this by now, but circumstances as they are, needs must, and all that, I suppose. As you know, a stateside replacement is in the works, though not quite ready yet._ **

His eyes grew wide and wet as he continued to read. Upon reaching the last line, he put his hand to his chest, threw his head back, and laughed out loud with delight.

> **_P.S.  
>  You still haven’t been ‘New Towel’ good, but I believe this will do. I do hope, if you don’t mind, that you’ll save it for when we return._ **

Carefully folding the letter back into the envelope, he replaced it in the packaging to pull out the small, rectangular wooden box.

As Louis, Gia, and Enoch were all in the states, Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas with Michael and Uriel once again.

After a lovely dinner, a few hands of cards, and another explanation regarding where those who cheat at cards would end up in the afterlife, it was time to open presents.

Michael pulled out two identical, beautifully wrapped boxes from beneath the tree. “These are from Mother,” she said, handing one each to Uriel and to Crowley.

Uriel, taking the box, lifted the card from the top. She opened it, reading it aloud.

“This is your towel. There are many other towels like it, but this one is yours.” She scoffed, glancing at Michael. Uriel lifted the neatly-folded towel up out of the box, unfolding it to get a better look.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Crowley said, noticing the gold embroidered flakes along the cream trim ruffle on either edge of the dove-grey towel.

Crowley looked down to the box in his own hands. He lifted the lid carefully, discovering a card identical to Uriel’s on top of the tissue paper. Opening it, he, too read his aloud.

“ _First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win_.”

The words swept over Crowley like a gentle breeze. How strange, he thought, that a handful of words written on a tiny card could have such gravitas, such _meaning_ , to him. It was no wonder he found them in a box wrapped prettily in tissue and gilded ribbon. The words themselves were a gift.

Carefully, he reached down to unfold the tissue paper, revealing the contents beneath.

“Oh,” he said, stroking the soft ring-spun cotton. “It’s so soft.” He lifted the red towel up out of the box proudly, holding the folded towel in his lap. Running his fingertips along the black trim on the edge, he unfolded it.

There, right in the center of the towel, was an embroidered black rooster.

Aziraphale quickly covered his mouth with his hands as he squawked out a shrill laugh.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he carefully sat the gift box down on the floor in front of him. He turned his gaze towards Aziraphale. “You find this funny, do you?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I didn’t think she’d actually _do_ it,” he managed to squeak out while his shoulders continued to shake from restrained laughter.

“Oh?” Crowley said quietly. “You told your _mother_?”

“What’s going on?” Uriel asked, confused.

Michael leaned in towards Uriel. “Crowley fights chickens.”

“ _One_!” Crowley protested. “It was _one_ chicken, and I didn’t _want_ to do it! I didn’t wake up that day and think, ‘ _Right, today I think I’ll fight a chicken_.’ I’m not some sort of deviant that goes around battling assorted poultry and waterfowl, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s oddly vague, and yet somehow too specific for me to not ask,” Michael said with an amused look on her face. “You’ve also fought waterfowl?”

“Oh, wha- uh, er,” Crowley regarded her with sputtering shock. “ _Everyone’s_ high and mighty until they’re being stared down by a murderous beak.”

Aziraphale, red faced with tears threatening to drop from his tightly shut eyes, was unable to contain his laughter any longer. “ _Chicken fighter_!” He managed to gasp out.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Crowley said.

“No, you see,” Aziraphale, still laughing, wiped his eyes as he attempted to speak. “It’s because—”

“I don’t need you to _explain_ the joke to me, Aziraphale!” Crowley looked at him incredulously. “I _am_ the joke,” Crowley’s eyes went wide. “ _No_ , that’s not what I meant, I mean—”

But it was too late. Aziraphale was already turning purple from laughter, and Michael wasn’t far behind him. Crowley turned his head so neither of them could see the grin creeping along his face. Just because he found Aziraphale’s reaction adorable, just because he’d gleefully prove himself a jester in multiple ways if only to hear that angelic snorting ruckus of a laugh, that didn’t mean he had to go and let anyone _else_ know that.

Uriel looked to Crowley, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “I still don’t understand what’s so funny.”

Crowley cocked his head to one side with a shrug of his own. “They’re all beaky little bastards. Can’t be helped.”

“They _are_ ,” she agreed. “I fought a swan, once,” Uriel said quietly.

“You did?” Crowley asked, both surprised and fascinated.

“Yes. They are quite disagreeable, and _very_ aggressive,” she said. “This one in particular, I still don’t understand what set it off for certain, but it charged right at me, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“What did you do?”

Uriel looked him square in the eye. “My _best_.”

Crowley wasn’t on the schedule to work New Year’s Eve. Louis, remembering the events of the previous year, instructed Eric not to schedule Crowley for the week of Christmas through New Year. Though multiple friends and family had tried to talk them into going out that night, they decided they wanted to spend a quiet evening to themselves. They didn’t need a party to celebrate, and though Aziraphale trusted Crowley not to drink, he still felt better about not having it around him so soon after everything.

Ever since the revelation that they could sleep next to one another without having sex, they found they quite enjoyed staying a few nights a week over with the other, holding one another. There were occasional touches beyond a simple hug, but as of yet, they hadn’t gone any further than a caress here or there, and nothing below the waist.

Aziraphale looked up from where he was seated on the couch just in time to see one of his favorite sights. Crowley, fresh from the shower, walking down the hallway, bare-legged, and in one of his own shirts.

Crowley stopped in the hallway to turn the radio on. He grinned as he made his way towards the couch. Instead of sitting next to Aziraphale, he straddled his thighs to sit on his lap.

“Comfortable?” Aziraphale grinned back, running his hands from Crowley’s thighs up along his sides and back.

“Extremely,” Crowley said, leaning down to slot their lips together.

They might not have expanded much on the _other_ aspects of their physical relationship, but the kissing flowed quite freely nowadays.

Crowley _really_ liked kissing.

They continued as the clock on the wall showed the year coming closer and closer to an end, nuzzling, snuggling, and snogging as the music played on.

Crowley leaned back momentarily to look over Aziraphale’s smiling face. They had been so happy together lately. It was incredible, he thought, how different things were now.

Crowley thumbed the ring on his hand. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Aziraphale. All he had to do was make sure he stayed healthy enough to do it. Luckily, he had all the incentive he needed right there in his arms.

_Venus de milo in her half-baked shell  
Understood the nature of love very well_

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s t-shirt over his head, running his hands back down along Aziraphale’s upper arms and chest.

_  
She said, "a good love is delicious,  
You can't get enough too soon  
It makes you so crazy you want to swallow the moon.”_

Crowley shivered as Aziraphale’s warm hands deftly unbuttoned and slipped inside of the oversized shirt to lower it down his own arms.

_Oh, oh Jupiter  
Oh, oh be still my little heart_

Aziraphale slid his hands along Crowley’s back, drawing them closer together, skin against skin, as they deepened their kiss.

_Oh, oh love is a flame neither timid nor tame_

“I’m ready,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s lips. “It’s time.”

_Take these stars from my crown  
Let the years fall down_

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he recognized what Crowley meant. “Not _here_ ,” he said, carefully shifting out from beneath Crowley’s knees to stand from the couch.

_Lay me out in firelight  
Let my skin feel the night_

He lifted Crowley up into his arms and carried him, bridal-style, down the hallway to the bedroom.

_Fasten me to your side and say it will be soon  
You make me so crazy, baby  
Could swallow the moon  
Swallow the moon_

“I want us to have the first time we _should_ have had,” Aziraphale said, running his hand along Crowley’s side as he lay him gently upon the bed. “One without fear or obligation.”

_My hands are two travelers they've crossed oceans and lands  
Yet they are too small on the continent of your skin_

Crowley nodded his consent as Aziraphale reached to remove the last of the fabric barriers between the two of them. His skin felt comfortably electric at the touch. He gasped as Aziraphale positioned himself above him, pressing their bodies together. Reveling in the sensations, Crowley quietly continued to listen.

_Wandering, wandering  
I could spend my life  
Traveling the length of your body each night_

“There isn’t anything for you to fix or repair,” Aziraphale whispered, looking lovingly down at Crowley. “You owe me absolutely nothing here. You know that, don’t you?”

_Oh, oh Jupiter  
Oh, oh be still my little heart_

Crowley lifted his head from the pillow to press his lips delicately against Aziraphale’s, pulling back to ever so slightly nod.

_Oh, oh love is a flame neither timid nor tame_

”You need to know, whatever you decide, even if this is _all_ we _ever_ have,” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley to emphasize his words, pulling him closer, “Even if we never have more than this ever again, it’s _enough_.” They nuzzled together, cheek to cheek, before he continued, whispering against Crowley’s ear. “I _desire_ you. Whatever form that takes, _I desire you_ , and I love you, and it’s _enough_. _You_ are _enough_.”

_Take these stars from my crown  
Let the years fall down  
Lay me out in firelight  
Let my skin feel the night_

Aziraphale almost cried out in joy when Crowley lifted his pelvis up, pressing the proof of his desire against Aziraphale’s own.

_Fasten me to your side  
And say it will be soon  
You make me so crazy, baby  
Could swallow the moon_

Aziraphale smiled, huffing out a small, shaky laugh as he rolled his hips down, burying his face against Crowley’s neck as he arched up beneath Aziraphale.

_  
Swallow the moon  
Swallow the moon  
Swallow the moon_

Aziraphale breathily whispered into Crowley’s neck. “How I’ve dreamed of touching you, of your name leaving my tongue to be replaced by the taste of your skin. My precious Starlight,” he said, drinking in the delightful whimper vibrating from within the trembling throat beneath his tongue. He would never grow weary of the way Crowley’s entire body reacted to the endearment, he thought. And now he could enjoy the way the sensations rippled through both of their bodies with each whispered devotion.

They had been intimate together in the past, but never like _this_. Aziraphale had only _thought_ they had made love before. Never had they ever been so completely and totally naked and open to one another. It was addictive, he thought, being so utterly free to love now. There were no more dirty secrets, nothing to hide. Nothing to stand in the way. No more looming fear of destruction. Just shared joy and bliss.

They were laid bare in the best way possible.

They continued to rock back and forth together, ever so gently. Their breaths synchronized as their chests rose and fell together in a rhythmic bliss. There was no need to rush. Just existing in a shared motion, as if love itself could be pressed and preserved between two bodies like a flower in a book, was _enough_.

Aziraphale looked down into the warm, joyful eyes staring back up at him.

“There you are,” Aziraphale whispered, propping himself up on his elbows and cupping Crowley’s face between his hands.

“You found me,” Crowley replied, wrapping arms around Aziraphale’s neck to pull him down into a kiss while tightening his legs around Aziraphale’s waist.

They held each other, gently swaying, lost to the waves and crests in their own personal sea of tranquility. They didn’t even notice the clock strike twelve, heralding in the new year. But that was all right. They were _already_ creating something much more wonderful. They were paving the way towards a new beginning.

Harriet smiled and leaned down to press a kiss against Louis’s lips before moving off of him to lie down beside him. He smiled back at her, watching as she rolled over to go to sleep. He kept smiling as he lay there in the near dark. Once he heard the rhythmic breathing that signaled she had fallen asleep, his face relaxed.

He sat up, careful not to disturb her, searching the floor beside the bed for his pajama bottoms. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for a few minutes before standing up to put them on.

Louis watched carefully while opening his bedside table, being as quiet as he could. He removed a pair of earbuds and a small box, then grabbed his phone. Louis glanced at the bottle of leftover champagne from their New Year’s festivities earlier, grabbing it, too.

He put in the earbuds, flipped over to his music on his phone, and walked out of the room _._ Louis’s shoulders slumped as he glanced at Warlock’s bedroom door. He brought the neck of the bottle of champagne to his lips, emptying it on his long walk to the kitchen.

_  
  
And you got me like, "Oh, what you want from me?"  
See I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high_

Louis dropped the empty bottle into the recycling, then took a glass and a new bottle out of the cupboards above the worktop. He sat down at the table and poured himself another drink. _  
  
Baby, you got me like "Oh"  
You love when I fall apart (when I fall apart)  
So you can put me together and throw me against the wall_

He stared harshly at the tiny box in his hand.

_  
Baby you got me like i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-hiii, woo i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-hiii  
Don't you stop loving me (loving me)  
Don't quit loving me (loving me)  
Just start loving me (loving me)_

He knew that as long as he remained here, he’d continue to give her whatever she wanted, whether or not she asked for it, because he loved her. He’d continue to smile and pretend it wasn’t tearing him apart piece by piece, because he loved her.

_And babe I'm fist-fighting with fire  
Just to get close to you  
Can we burn something babe  
And I run for miles just to get a taste_

He’d continue to spend his sleepless nights staring at the ring she would never wear, because he _loved_ her.

Just like every other time.

_It must be love on the brain  
That's got me feeling this way  
It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good  
And I can't get enough_

He rubbed his hands roughly across his face, both delighted and distraught that he could still smell her perfume on his skin.

_It must be love on the brain, yeah  
And it keeps cursing my name  
No matter what I do  
I'm no good without you  
And I can't get enough  
It must be love on the brain_

Louis turned the music off and opened up his messaging app _._

Crowley’s phone chimed three times in a row, nearly vibrating off the bedside table. Aziraphale reached over him to pick it up so it wouldn’t fall off of the edge.

“It’s too early,” Crowley whined. “I don’t want to start my year awake now.”

“Do you even know what time it is?” Aziraphale asked, pressing a kiss against Crowley’s shoulder.

“It’s too early to open my eyes, Angel,” Crowley rasped sleepily. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Your phone went off a few times,” Aziraphale said. “It might be important.”

“It’s probably just someone else saying Happy New Year. Why do people text me at fuck-off-o’clock?” Crowley whined petulantly. “You’re good at being awake. Can you read it?”

“Your phone is locked.”

“Just use your left thumb. That’s the one I programmed into the fingerprint reader,” Crowley said sleepily.

Aziraphale paused, putting the phone down on the bed. “When did you do that?”

“When you were asleep,” Crowley mumbled, not opening his eyes. “Did I forget to tell you?”

“You did, yes.”

“Oh,” Crowley yawned. “Okay, well, I added your thumbprint in case you needed to get into my phone. _Do_ wake me up if it’s important,” Crowley said, pressing a kiss against Aziraphale’s shoulder before rolling back over.

Aziraphale laughed softly, then looked back down at Crowley’s phone. He pressed his thumb to the fingerprint reader and opened the text. “Oh, that’s… That seems ominous,” Aziraphale said, looking down at Crowley’s phone screen.

“Is everything all right?” Crowley asked sleepily.

“The text is from Louis,” he said.

Crowley became more alert. “What did he need?”

“It says, _I can’t do this on my own. You were right. Call Eric for arrangements_ ,” Aziraphale read aloud before putting the phone back down. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

Crowley was already getting out of bed and gathering his clothes from the floor. “It means that I’ve got to go to DC.”

Eric had already booked a flight for the next morning. He had arranged for a car to take Crowley to the airport, though Crowley felt it vital to make one very important stop first.

Aziraphale opened the front door, smiling as the love of his life smiled back and began to sing.

_All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door  
I hate to wake you up to say good-bye_

Crowley stepped through the door to pull Aziraphale into an embrace.

_  
But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn, the taxi's waiting He's blowing his horn  
Already I'm so lonesome I could die_

Crowley reached up to take Aziraphale’s face between his hands.

_  
So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me  
Hold me like you'll never let me go_

He pressed a soft, quick kiss against Aziraphale’s lips.

_Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again  
Angel, I hate to go_

Crowley leaned in, hugging Aziraphale tightly.

_There's so many times I've let you down, so many times I've played around  
I tell you now they don't mean a thing  
Every place I go I'll think of you, every song I sing I'll sing for you  
When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring_

Crowley’s thumb stroked the underside of the band on his finger. He couldn’t wait to get back home, and he hadn’t even left yet.

_Now the time has come to leave you, just one more time let me kiss you  
Then close your eyes, I'll be on my way_

Crowley smiled as his eyes began to water, peppering Aziraphale’s face with kisses.

_Kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me  
Hold me like you'll never let me go  
  
_

He sighed heavily and headed back down to the car that was waiting to take him away for the foreseeable future.

Crowley gave a nod of thanks to the flight attendant for the juice and glanced out the window. It was much more surreal, this time, he thought, the way the dark twilight above the clouds shifted into the red glow of sunrise. He was no longer running from the fires that he saw below the clouds before. Now, he was fully within the light, and heading straight on with the sun shining on his back.

As much as he was dreading what he might find when he got to DC, he felt strangely calm. This wasn’t the first time he had gone in to pull Louis back from the fire. But maybe, if they were lucky, it would be the last.

He put on his headphones and settled in.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

It felt good, he thought, to be a person someone could count on again. Had it really only been a few months since he fell apart?

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

Crowley realized how far he had come along in his life and his own understanding of the elements within it, even since the last time he had made this trip just over a month prior.

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly  
Into the light of a dark black night_

But he hadn’t done it alone, had he? No. He realized, now, that all the while he had been struggling to climb his way out of the pit he had fallen into, there had been hands lifting him up along side him the whole time.

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly  
Into the light of a dark black night_

He hadn’t truly been alone, not for a very long time.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
  
_

Genomes and nucleotides and DNA are not the only markers for familial bond.

 _This_ is what you do. _This_ is how you know.

 _This_ is what it means to be part of a family. You love one another. You support and lift each other up in all the ways you are able. You hope.

You show up.

_All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

When it’s _your_ turn, even when you’re at your darkest and lowest point, if you’re lucky enough, the family you belong with will be there for _you_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: The quote in Crowley’s card is “First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win.” – Mahatma Gandhi  
> Uriel’s card contains an edited version of the first line of the Rifleman’s Creed. (Remember, Gia is from the US, and in the show, Uriel was a soldier eager to go to war.)
> 
> The next chapter will be posted next Saturday. Rather than make you wait for this Saturday, I'm posting this tonight since it wasn't ready last weekend.
> 
> I ended up changing a few things around because it made more sense to do so. This current chapter is now longer than I planned, because I added what was in the original chapter 46 to chapter 45 for pacing. You're still getting virtually the same amount of story that was planned to go between two chapters, but I've simply combined them into one and taken a small portion of the original chapter 46 to expand upon for the new chapter 46. Confused? Sorry about that. Basically, I changed up how I wanted to show you some information that you will see in the next chapter, but this means I need more time to get it finished. 
> 
> See you next week.


	46. Soothe The Savage Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> There's been an expansion of the M&M world.
> 
> Welcome to The Inferno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!  
> 
> 
> Initially, I had intended on creating a large, mega-chapter to detail a lot of this information for you. But enough people had asked me about a Louis Spinoff that I couldn't resist. 
> 
> First, I thought I would wait until it was all done and post it as a one-shot, not posting until NEXT weekend. But then I realized I could split it up into chapters and keep you from having to wait as long to get started on it.  
> For those of you on Patreon, don't fret (or maybe do? I don't know your life) because that art is still coming. Some of it just happens to be in the other story in this series. 
> 
> Also, and this is important...
> 
> _This is not the only side story planned._

ALSO OF GREAT IMPORTANCE!!!!! 

The ever-so-incredible Miel Petite has blessed me with art!!!! I cannot express how excited I am to receive fan art for M&M. I encourage anyone else who might like to do this, because I _love it_! Just tag me in it on whatever platform you like. (I'm amadness2method everywhere, which, btw, is also where you might look for updates on progress as well as art)

Anyway, she did the pond scene from chapter 5, Fairytales, and I could not be happier.

She graciously invited me to color her gorgeous lineart.

And now, without further ado, please enjoy

[ **Music and Manuscripts: Soothe The Savage Beast** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340516/chapters/58691608)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Your comments, kudos, and support are what keep me going. Even when I don't have it in me to reply sometimes, please know that you all mean the world to me.
> 
> Update: This is still going, though I had to take a break for a bit. You can find updates to what's happening, as well as snippets of previews of this and other of my works, at [ my website.](https://www.amadness2method.com/category/wips/)


End file.
